Poison Arrow
by Nea's world
Summary: Life in recent decades has resulted in more challenges for Prince Legolas. His family is growing, as are his responsibilities. Life seems to be going just as he expected until one poison arrow adds a ripple of chaos to his well ordered world.
1. Almost perfecty aligned

Hey, guys! I'm finally back with a new story.

Obviously, I'm not Tolkien. I own nothing he created, though I do claim the majority of the characters you'll meet throughout this rather odd creation. I hope you enjoy, and happy April Fool's!

P.S. Thanks to Niri for checking this over since I'm posting it faster than I normally would to meet my own deadline.

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Almost perfectly aligned**_

Kirilan was a studier of people. Sort of. It was a limited hobby—only certain people interested him, and he had somewhat limited access to people to study without making them unduly nervous.

Two of his favorites were sitting as antagonists in front of him, so he was quite content, considering his location… and how utterly bored he would be, without this hobby of his. Though, come to think of it, his hobby might have been spawned in boredom alone, centuries ago.

Oh well. He was lucky, he supposed, that his role in these meetings was as little as it was. It could have been far worse.

All of the advisors and commanders that Mirkwood currently boasted were sitting around the table in the war room. Many were characters in their own rights, but his preferred two subjects were sitting almost opposite each other at the middle of the long table, the majority of the other elves spread out on left and right for both.

The unofficial seating chart worked fairly well—for the most part, those with definite views sat near one of the two elves who expressed them with the most… weight. Or at least, the most vehemently.

Kirilan himself sat in a chair against the wall, where he would be hidden from sight by a large marble statue if anyone would dare be so bold as to enter the near sacrosanct room when the door was closed. On the far side of the table from his seat sat the Commander of the Troops.

While there were a half dozen elves called Commander, none but the one sitting there was the Commander of the Troops, and though the title was only used on rare occasion, it was very well known. A title ever-present in the mind, if not on the tongue. If he chose to do so, that elf had merely to state that his word was final… and it would be, no matter the argument, nor the opponent.

Save the King himself, of course.

Considering that title, and the almost absolute control he could wield, it was unsurprising that his only abrasive and persistent opponent was related to the royalty of Mirkwood…

Though the relation was only on his mother's side, with no blood between them and the King. He was a cousin to the King's children, though, and did not hide that. Some gave him slightly deferential treatment because of his relation, but those who knew anything of the royal family more or less brushed him off.

Which might, really, be one of the reasons he so often wished to antagonize the Commander of the Troops.

They looked like a study of opposites. The Commander was tall, lean, and sharp featured, the sharpness softened only by one unruly bit of light gold hair that forever escaped the tie at his nape or being tucked behind his ear, choosing instead to brush his cheek or move to contrast brightly with his dark navy eyes.

The Royal Cousin, on the other hand, was actually a little on the shorter side. Not _short_, not really, but by some unknown design of the Valar most of the Commanders were on the tall side, making everyone else look short in comparison. The Royal Cousin was one of these. He'd taken over his father's advising position a few centuries after the Commander had taken over his from his father. Both looked rather like their fathers, the Royal Cousin having the same dark hair and pale grey eyes as the elf who had previously sat before the Commander of the Troops.

In manner, too, they were quite different. The Commander's eyes were guarded, ever enigmatic. His face, as well, was generally schooled to neutrality—to such a large degree that one might well assume that when emotion was _seen_ it was either allowed through the mask, manufactured, or the Commander was simply too overwhelmed to control it any longer—which but rarely happened… in fact, Kirilan couldn't recall having seen it in over fifteen hundred years.

When the Commander gave his orders or stated his position, his voice was calm, quiet, and yet forceful in that odd way only a few managed and Kirilan could never figure out. Elves would stop to listen, and if they didn't, were soon stopped by another. The Commander was never ignored.

The Royal Cousin was loud, flashy and emotional. He would be a hair away from shouting if others tried to talk over him, used his hands to emphasize his point, and would get to his feet to pace, his face flushed and eyes flaring with emotions.

So very different, these two, and so often set at odds. He really did love to watch them, but he felt some amount of pity for the Royal Cousin, as he'd cast himself the Fool—the Commander would always win. Even if by some miracle of dumb luck the Royal Cousin stumbled upon an argument the Commander had not already considered, one which actually made a difference, the Commander would turn things so deftly and with such cunning that while the Royal Cousin might feel a slight victory, anyone watching would see he'd been handled as a busy parent handles an overactive child—soothed and shunted to the side to expend their excess energy on self-important tasks.

It was, clearly enough, a waste of time to set yourself against one who could always overrule you simply because he had the power to do so and you annoyed him. Still, the Royal Cousin had been at it for nearly seven hundred years, now, and was as of yet naively thick-headed.

Kirilan would bet good money if he were the gambling type that the Royal Cousin honestly thought that the Commander would let him have one, some day.

That was the only real similarity between them—they could be amazingly stubborn, and no one could talk them out of anything if they didn't want to be talked out of it.

A small smile touched his lips as he watched the Royal Cousin attempt to make his point by hand gestures.

The Commander, in turn, simply quirked a brow, until the Royal Cousin had continued on long past the Commander's tolerance level, at which point the Commander's gaze drifted a bit, a slight haze dulling the sharp eyes.

A furious flush colored the Royal Cousin's cheeks, before he succinctly summed up his ramblings and settled uneasily back into his seat.

The Commander blinked at the silence, and turned his gaze back to the now silent orator. With a few harsh words given in a tone that softened them mildly, the entire speech was discarded in the span of a breath.

With controlled, precise movements, the Commander began gathering the papers before him, indicating the end of the discussion and the meeting. Things would proceed according to his plans—the other Commanders already had their orders. Nothing said in the meeting had changed anything, as most had expected.

The meetings were more a chance for the advisors to feel they did _something_ more than for any practical purposes. Maybe once in a few centuries they would be listened to on some matter or other. A choice of dinner, perhaps.

Before the papers were off the table, the door swung fiercely open—it was accustomed to gentle and solemn treatment, and fairly flew at this harsh handling—and a fiery elf entered the room, her eyes landing on the Commander almost instantly.

"Elder brother," she stated, blithely ignoring all of the advisors and commanders who had risen to their feet at her abrupt entry.

The Commander, after seeing who was so rude to ignore the sanctity of the closed door to this most hallowed room to the army's command, returned to his papers before she saw he'd seen her, and began gathering them slowly, precisely, informing her through this disinterest his displeasure in her entrance.

She pursed her lips, knowing his tactics well enough, but didn't bother to apologize. Her presence alone betrayed her haste. "Your only brother not of blood is being his usual self and intends to sweep me off to locations unknown for a two week 'holiday' in roughly an hour. He's packed for me—so I have to not only pack but unpack as well in that time. There is much to do… he is impetuous, which is not always a gift, though Eru knows I love him."

The papers were almost perfectly aligned.

She sighed. "Please."

The long-fingered hands stilled over the pages. He lifted his eyes to her.

She smiled tightly, quickly, and pushed Commander Zalian's, the Commander's right hand elf in most matters, papers aside so she could perch on the edge of the table. She ignored Zalian's discrete shuffling out of the way. "I do not have time to coddle Herita. Be a love and see that she does not feel abandoned. I would ask Kirilan if I had the time to hunt him down, but I knew where you were. Please, elder brother."

Navy eyes closed for an instant. "Your daughter shall be looked after, Odrune."

She closed her eyes in relief, and reached out as she leaned forward to stand, hooking her hand around his neck, pulling him close enough to kiss his forehead. "Eru bless you," she called over her shoulder, papers stirring in her wake before she snapped the door shut with an airy flick of her wrist.

The Commander's eyes wearily closed for an instant while most of the room watched her exit, before he gathered his papers and stood. "Good evening, everyone. Kirilan, come with me."

Kirilan made his way around the room quickly, stifling a yawn as he joined the elf who had called to him. "Was anything of interest said?" he asked when the door behind them had closed off their conversation from anyone who might have been interested enough to listen.

There was a snort beside him. "I would ask why you bother to show up now and again, save that you are invaluable, when you do pay attention."

"I do pay attention."

"To the vendetta Urigael has against me."

"Not against you, exactly."

Another snort. "Isn't it?"

"Why would it be?"

"Because he wants the power of royal blood when he has neither royal blood nor any true power. He is an advisor—a fly to be endured," he made an absent, almost swatting gesture, the 'important' papers held loosely in his free hand, "—nothing more."

Kirilan grinned. "I'm sure they'd love to hear their exalted positions described so basely."

"If we needed them to tell us our duties, our responsibilities, perhaps things would be different. We don't need them."

"If they ever did what you do, they would be useful."

"What I do?" Navy eyes pinned him as he stopped walking.

Kirilan paused his steps as well, and quirked a brow. "You analyze the situation six ways from Sunday in the first minute, then a thousand ways beyond that. You consider things the advisors would scoff at when told they aught to consider them. Your plans take into account both outside threat, internal politics, economics, the local current, the—"

A hand was lifted. "Enough!" A small smile touched his lips before he continued down the secluded hall. "Enough, Kirilan. I do what I must."

"Yes. And if the advisors did their jobs, they would consider all of that, as well, rather than a small bit of one part. I really don't understand why Father wanted them at all."

"Father gave them tasks, areas in which to excel. One the, as you call it, 'local current' in the halls, another in the village. One was given interest in the trading to the north, another to the west, a third to the south. Each one had their area, but over time… well, there is no trade to the south any longer, and practically none to the west, save the occasional rare call for wine from across the sea."

Kirilan grinned again. "Father does love his wine."

A soft chuckle. "Yes, he does."

After a little while, Kirilan realized his question had never been answered. "So, was anything interesting said?"

"No. Urigael said what he has been saying for the last sixty years, in roughly the same words."

"He still wants us to risk our people by sending them West?"

A sharp nod of his head. "To staff the fort in the forest," he mocked. "We could manage with twenty good elves."

Kirilan closed his eyes. "We lost forty-eight when the fort was lost. I doubt he even knows the number. I can name almost half of the soldiers, a few of them friends. I've no doubt you can name them all."

The nod was again sharp, but more tense. "Too many good elves lost. Not only in that last battle, but in all the skirmishes before. One hundred and sixty-four, since the fort was built." He shook his head. "Not again, especially over a fort we cannot use, even if we held it." Navy eyes narrowed. "I wish Father had listened when I told him too many had died there. Perhaps those last deaths could have been avoided."

"You'd been after him for nearly seventy years about that fort."

"Seventy years, twenty deaths. It will not happen again." His eyes narrowed, flashing furiously for an instant.

It made Kirilan smile. Yes, the elf was closely guarded around the majority of the world. Around those _he_ considered kin, though, the mask was lowered a bit. "Do you even know where our dear niece is, elder brother?"

"Not precisely. I assume she goes with Nana, though, as we did."

"Only because Nana thinks she should grow up with her cousins."

Another sharp glance. "What does she think she knows that we don't?" he asked dryly.

Kirilan chuckled on cue, but nervously kept his eyes forward lest something be read in his eyes. No, the Commander was not interested in any elf, nor in having a wife or children, cousins for their niece. He, himself, though…

And having grown up under Nana's watchful eyes, he found himself sure they missed very little.

The Commander caught a servant's eye, and the servant dutifully bowed his head, awaiting the coming command or question. "To find my niece, the best place to look would be?"

"I believe the children were heading to the fall—" They were already walking away, a nod given over a shoulder in thanks.

The 'fall garden' was a perennial favorite among the children, as it combined things to climb, swing from, fall from, and many ways to get dirty. It's name came, not from the activities that often occurred within as one might assume when a room was named by children, but from the series of waterfalls that percolated through the stone to reach the chamber that was set deep within the mountain's heart, hot spring water that was cooled at a higher altitude before filtering down to emerge in thousands of tiny fissures in the rocks. The falls were small, but the pool beneath them large and deep and always comfortably warm, making it a safe place for even the youngest of elves to learn to climb, once they'd learned to swim well enough. Most elves of Mirkwood learned that skill young, even if other realms shunned Ulmo's domain.

Indeed it seemed the servant had been correct in his belief, as the voices of many children could be heard long before they reached the fall garden, along with a few lower pitches that came from the adults either charged with watching them, or who took joy in doing so.

Nana was the first to notice them, which surprised neither. She always kept herself in position to watch the door of the room, as well as her charges. By calculating her angle, both soon found their niece studying a flower under the guidance of Anumi, a lady who took her pleasure in delicate stitch-work and looking after the children. Almost any given day could find her with them, wherever they were, a bag with some bit of cloth and a needle waiting somewhere should she want it.

"What brings my princes to me?" Nana demanded, before holding out a hand.

Kirilan took the hand, bringing it to his lips before pressing it to his cheek.

She smiled fondly, before turning to his elder brother. "And you, you rascal?"

"Uncle Legolas! Uncle Kirilan!"

Legolas smiled faintly, bending to kiss her cheek. "The duties of elder brother, Nana," he told her, reaching down to pat the head of the barnacle attached to his leg. "Are you ready to go, Herita?" he asked softly.

She lifted her head from his thigh and grinned. "I'm goin' with you?" she asked, suppressed excitement in the question.

"If you're ready before I leave," he answered blandly.

She squeaked and raced off.

"Don't be cruel to the child," Nana scolded, but she was chuckling as she heard Herita's happy giggles. "The girl adores you."

"Clearly she has no taste," Kirilan deadpanned.

A glint in Legolas's eyes hinted at a smile. "Ah, the follies of youth."

Kirilan shook his head. "It's not truly folly, Legolas. She knows you love her—that you would drop everything if she needed you, truly needed you."

The proclamation seemed to rather disturb Legolas. "She is blood," he said at length, almost absently.

"Blood and bond before crown and country?"

Legolas bowed his head slightly, a small frown drawing his brow. "For the peace of the heart, yes. For that of the soul… perhaps no. There are times when crown and country may require loyalty above that of blood and bond, or even over that of love." He shook himself and turned to Nana. "All is as it was, Nana?"

"My schedule is the same," Nana agreed, but her eyes were shrewd upon him. "Toriad has made good on his threat then?" she asked softly after a long silence.

"So it seems," Kirilan offered as Legolas didn't seem about to. "Odrune burst in on the closed meeting."

"Well, who has a right to do so, if not a princess?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, knowing Legolas would not agree. It would be alright if she walked into the guard bathroom, fine if she strode into a private council between the Commanders and the King, but to walk in on the one domain in which Legolas reigned supreme? He was still considered too young by many in that room to sit where he did, but they couldn't deny that he had worked his way through the ranks as he should have. Or really, as well as he could have, considering even skill never allowed any not of their blood to be titled 'Commander of the Troops'. Nor could any deny that he did an excellent job as the Commander of the Troops—there had been fewer deaths and injuries but also a higher number of destroyed spider nests, spiders, orcs, and even an occasional troll since he took over for their father. Odrune bursting in had reminded them all that the elf calling the shots, running the army, was less than half their average age. It could have set him back a few decades in controlling things, had he not been rather harsh with her.

Thankfully, she understood, even if she hadn't expected it when she entered.

"At any rate," Legolas said quietly as Herita began running towards them. "She shall be in my spare room tonight."

"Tonight?" Kirilan mused.

Legolas quirked a brow. "You _are_ more known to her than I."

"Yes… and so she adores you all the more."

Legolas shook his head slightly, the conversation at an end as Herita latched onto his leg again, her arms winding tightly around his knee.


	2. Failed misbehavior

I was warned that 'Nana' might, for many people, evoke the thought that Nana is the Queen. However, as is made obvious in this chapter, she is not. She is simply the royal nanny, known only as Nana. She was Thranduil's nanny, once upon a time, then Legolas, Kirilan and Odrune's, and now she watches over Herita and waits for more charges.

* * *

**_Chapter 2: Failed misbehavior_**

With a wide yawn Kirilan entered the main chamber of the royal wing, annoyed to find Legolas looking just as alert and ready for anything as ever, despite the early hour. "Orders, Commander?"

Legolas rolled his eyes to Kirilan, then returned his attention to the reports from the previous day, not bothering to respond to the tease.

Kirilan half-smiled and made himself a plate from the food set out on the side table, setting into it with relish even while he absently noticed the practically untouched one resting at his brother's elbow.

A door opened just as he was considering the fruits, and he looked up. "Good morning, Father."

"Da," Legolas greeted, not looking up.

"Good morning, boys. Where is the baby girl?"

Kirilan shook his head as Legolas chuckled. "Not here to come screeching at you for calling her that," Kirilan stated, finally settling on a piece before heading over to sit across from Legolas.

"Oh? Where is she?"

"Off somewhere with her husband," Legolas said absently, as Kirilan's mouth was full of a very tart fruit. Legolas glanced up, smirking a bit at the face he made while attempting to pry all the bitter stickiness from his back teeth. It was the toughest job he'd had in a while. "She's granted us temporary custody of her offspring."

Thranduil shot Legolas a droll look. "So your niece is visiting? The horror."

Legolas let the papers fall to the table with a small 'thwack', before leaning back in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his abdomen. "Why does everyone assume I despise her presence?"

"Not _despise_… just barely tolerate. And it's your attitude, your wording when you talk about her." Kirilan glanced up in time to see a flicker of discomfort in his elder brother's eyes. "She knows you love her, Legolas. Be at peace."

Navy eyes guarded, Legolas gazed out at the balcony, into the garden beyond.

Kirilan shook his head. "Well, as we've nothing pressing to do, I shall go and visit our dreaded relative of dwarf-height."

Legolas lifted a brow. "I don't think she's quite that tall, even. Besides, there is always something to do, Kirilan. Why not say you _want_ to see her?"

"Because to do so I would have to endure your taunting," he retorted, before grinning. "Coming along?" he mocked.

After a moment, Legolas stretched his arms over his head, then got sinuously to his feet. "As there is nothing _pressing_ to do… and we don't want her to feel the loss of her mother too keenly, do we?"

Kirilan's eyes snapped to Legolas's, neither looking to their father.

The Queen was still missed.

"No," Kirilan agreed slowly, the tight knot in his chest slowly easing. "I'll be ready in a short while."

A few minutes more than a short while had them heading towards the chamber in the mountain's heart where they'd been informed the children were earlier seen being herded towards.

They were able to hear the normal clamor of noise from the play of the children when Zalian approached, bowing his head curtly. "Commander?"

Legolas hesitated only a moment. "Perhaps later, Kirilan."

"Of course. Am I wanted?"

Legolas quirked a brow.

Zalian shrugged.

"I think we shall survive without your… expertise."

Kirilan smiled and tipped his head slightly, only mildly curious about the cause for Zalian's interruption. If it was important enough, he would have been included 'just in case'. That Zalian hadn't indicated he was wanted told both princes that it was a more or less routine matter, but one which really shouldn't wait.

For a short moment he allowed himself to speculate, then shrugged the commanders away from his thoughts and entered the room, quickly cataloging the elves there by age groups.

In any other room, it wouldn't have been so easy.

This room, affectionately called the 'rock room' by the youthful lot, was not softened for their use. When the halls were crafted, this room was left as a side project, and never really finished. As a result, the room near the door was smooth, polished, with ornate archways that hinted at an initially grand design. After about twenty paces in, however, the room simply stopped being a designed room. It was not entirely sheer rock—in places, the workers had begun the process of carving it out. You could find tool marks, the occasional chipped out name or date which the workers often did as something of a gag, knowing it would soon be obliterated by either their own hand or that of the elf behind him. All in all, it was a craggy mess of solid and unstable stone, made all the more alluring for that instability. Only those elves who had not gotten unwittingly wet in many years of climbing in the fall garden were generally allowed to climb the highest reaches of the rock room wall, because to fall from it meant to fall onto unforgiving stone. Every few dozen years a child would break something by taking to the wall too early. On the rarest of occasions, one died.

Those who survived their fall were punished by being banished from the wall entirely for an average of fifty years, which persuaded some to leave it alone, while attracting others.

So, the elder children were those attacking the wall, their slightly younger cohorts those at the base, calling up suggestions. The children only just too young to even shout suggestions would be those studiously ignoring the rock entirely, usually either reading or playing games on the smooth floor. The rest played active games, pausing on occasion or when alerted by a gasp or intense shout to watch the antics of their elders.

"Back already, young prince?"

Kirilan was smiling before he turned. "So I am, Nana." He bent to kiss her cheek before seating himself beside her, studying the elves around them.

Nana chuckled. "Anumi is not here today."

He drew breath to protest, but failed as a flush lit his ears. He dipped his head forward to hide them with his hair as she laughed softly.

"Yet."

He glanced at her despite himself, before groaning when he realized he'd completely given himself away.

She laughed brightly.

"Well, if you're so cheerful, it must be a good…" Anumi trailed off when she entered upon seeing Kirilan beside Nana. "Back so soon, Prince?" she asked softly, her smile tightening before she placed herself beside Nana, drawing a bit of cloth from her bag. She was soon utterly absorbed in the stitches, until a group of the youngest children began pulling at her skirts and sleeves, begging her with wide eyes and pouty lips to play with them.

She put them off for a time, but the begging grew more intense.

One lad even dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, looking up at her beseechingly.

Finally she heaved a sigh and carefully folded her cloth, making the children begin to jump and cheer. She placed it in her bag, set the bag against Nana's side, got to her feet, dusted off her skirts, and plucked a bit of material from her braid before diving towards the closest child, the lad who'd laid in her lap.

He took off with a high-pitched shriek, the others scattering as she chased her chosen prey.

Nana tucked her elbow into his side, and began gossiping about the 'names' of the hall. Urigael's name came up a few times, as did several other advisors, but the commanders knew better than to let themselves become fodder for Nana's sort of gossip, whether by avoiding such activities altogether or being far more discrete when indulging in them.

After a brief lunch break, she grew solemn, telling him the quiet sort of thing few ever heard—she was his source in the halls, and managed to hear a lot of what went on in the village, too.

Anumi continued to play various games with differing groups of children, though he noticed the same five or six were persistent—the same ones that had been her shadows every other time he visited, more of the time he was there than not.

"And my rascal prince," Nana suddenly mused, slowly getting to her feet.

Legolas quirked a brow. "You needn't get up for me."

"No, but you're here to see to my charge, so I thought to impose upon Kirilan's sense of fondness for an old elf to look after a problem I've been having with the lighting in my room."

Legolas smiled faintly and kissed her cheek. "Then, by all means, deprive me of my brother."

"It's not like you don't live essentially together," she snorted, patting his shoulder before walking off a bit jerkily until her muscles stopped protesting the hours of little activity.

Kirilan stretched before following her. "Tell me at dinner, elder brother?" he asked.

"It was nothing," Legolas half-shrugged.

"That took you all day?" Kirilan asked, quirking a brow. "Very well," he shook his head, seeing he wouldn't get a reply. "I'll meet you in a few minutes, Nana. I want to grab a book first."

"Alright, young prince," Nana agreed. "Lady Anumi, do rest a moment!"

Legolas quirked a brow. "Lady?" he echoed. "Who is she to command so much respect from you, Nana?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "She's likely to make a fine princess one day, or should." She patted his shoulder again, perhaps having forgotten she already had, before finally leaving the room.

Anumi brushed her chasers off as she paused near him, taking a deep breath. "She's leaving already?" she asked, pushing a bit of dark hair from her slightly flushed face.

"She has enlisted Kirilan for some task of repair she could call any servant to see to."

Anumi smiled. "But she is most fond and trusting of 'her children'."

He inclined his head slightly.

A gasp from the children made them turn sharply—group gasps were never good, and even adults still responded to that long ago hint of trouble.

"Herita!" A young elf nearly of years to leave the gathering of children altogether called her name, already running to the wall. "Hold on!" he shouted up.

Before he was three feet off of the ground, Legolas was at the wall, leaping up the face as if it was a wide staircase, rather than an almost sheer mass of rock—at least, at the point he was going up, because that was closest to the place his niece was hanging on by fingers and the end of her braided hair. He ran up the rock going past her, grabbing her arm as she slipped, tossing her over his shoulder before turning, heading down at a slightly slower pace which still let him reach the ground before her would-be-rescuer was a quarter of the way up. He set her sharply on her feet and backed up a step.

"Herita," he growled.

Her wide, adoring gaze for his obvious mastery of the art of climbing grew fearful, dropping shamefully to her feet as she remembered the display had been brought about by her failed misbehavior.

"You know the rules. You were not to have _approached_ the wall for at least a century more!"

She nudged a small rock with her boot.

"Herita!"

She looked up. Her blue-grey eyes were swimming. Her lip trembled with a desire to protest, to declare her reason… but this was not her mother facing her, this was her Adored Uncle, the Crowned Prince, the Commander of the Troops… he would accept nothing less than her admittance of responsibility… and silence was the closest she could muster under these conditions, with everyone watching her, her fingers and side aching while her throat tightened and her eyes burned.

"You will not climb anything higher than a chair until your parents have decided how long you shall be banned from such activity."

She nodded miserably, "Yes, Uncle," she rasped, holding herself from running to him.

Then his right hand lifted slightly towards her, freeing her of her self-restraint, allowing her to burrow into his leg, her face pressed to his thigh. She inhaled sharply to feel him shake for a moment, and looked up to see his jaw tighten, his eyes darker than she'd seen them before.

She hugged his knee more tightly, realizing then that _she'd _scared_ him_. Perhaps even as much as she'd scared herself. "I won't do it again, I promise," she whispered.

"At least, not until you're allowed," he countered, and she sighed to hear that slight touch of amusement in his beloved voice.

All was right with the world. He wasn't angry with her.

But she still ached. "My hands hurt," she breathed.

He sighed. "Unsurprising. Do you think I can be trusted to tend to you, or shall we parade ourselves down to the healers?"

She shook her head furiously. "No!" she yelped, holding more tightly. "You do it."

Welcome weight rested on her crown, then slid down to her shoulder, tangling all too briefly in her hair. "You're going to have to let me walk," he mused.

She backed up reluctantly, and hesitated for a long moment, before lifting her arms beseechingly as she used to always do, wanting that added reassurance.

Though he'd chided her for being too big for such, too old, today he hefted her just as he used to do, making her feel weightless and utterly safe. She buried her face in his neck and relaxed, only to keen and tense when he touched her side.

"Herita?"

"I hit my side before I caught the rock I was holding onto," she explained very, _very_ quietly.

He was still for a time, but his exhalation was slow. He shifted her around so he wouldn't be touching her side as he carried her. "Do you have anything to take back?"

"Here," a soft voice said.

Herita looked up to see Anumi was holding out the small bag her mother had given her to carry her things in. She didn't let go of her uncle's neck to grab it, so he took it from Anumi.

The lady's dusky eyes lifted to his, seeking an answer to a question Herita couldn't fathom.

Whether she got the answer or not, Herita didn't know. All she saw was a warm, gentle smile from the lady and a caring brush of cool fingers across her cheek's sweaty skin before her eyes drifted closed, her body needing rest and release from the emotional upheaval of the day.

After Herita fell asleep, Anumi again looked to the prince. "Will you accept help?"

"I do not need any," he dismissed, beginning to turn.

Her lips tightened slightly. "That is not what I asked. She is hurt, Prince Legolas. While you are no doubt more than sufficient in caring for such injuries from your time with the army, how many injured young ladies have you attended?"

He studied her eyes for a long moment, before exhaling sharply. "None, naturally," he agreed, completing his turn, walking away.

She followed, having taken the sigh as concession.

He didn't stop her.

The guard outside the royal wing looked to Legolas, but when not given any indication, allowed Anumi to enter.

"Where are her things?" she asked.

"In her room, which is the door to the left when you enter Odrune's main room, which is that door," he indicated to the right with an inclination of his head, "by the star-flower vase. My rooms are straight ahead, and she's sleeping in the one to the right."

"I'll find you shortly," Anumi promised, striding forward confidently.

Legolas shook his head with a small sigh, placing his small charge on the spare bed in the room beside his own bed chamber. He rather liked how the royal wing was designed—each member had their own set of rooms, off of the central one. It allowed privacy, as each had separate entrances hidden and locked, and close proximity to the family without drifting through guarded doors all the time. Still, the space they were allowed made it simply too far for him to leave Herita in her own room. He would not hear her if she needed him.

He had just finished rebuilding the fire when Anumi entered the room, holding up soft-worn cloth. "If you would," she motioned at the door.

He passed her without commenting at her presumption, because it was a reasonable one, and he had other cause to leave the room. He took what supplies he would need from his storage cabinet, then fetched some warm water before returning to find his niece sleepy, but awake, and dressed in some faded old leggings that looked suspiciously familiar, if a bit ragged, and a soft, loose shirt.

Anumi had exposed the wounded side. It was a little red, perhaps, but there was no other sign of injury.

Yet. In a few days she could be a rainbow of painful colors, though the pain would have faded before the worst color appeared.

In silence he set to work, leaving the task of soothing Herita when something he did made the ache grow to Anumi, who had come for that express purpose, and fulfilled it well, as Herita had drifted off again before he got to her hands.

A loud thump on his outer door brought his gaze from blue-grey eyes which were slowly drifting open.

"See to them, I'll clean up," Anumi offered, taking the bowl of tepid water from his lap so he could rise.

He inclined his head slightly and stood, moving quickly through the rooms to the main room. He quirked a brow.

"I was starting to think you were abandoning us to our own devises for dinner," Thranduil said mockingly.

"But how interesting that could be, don't you think, Father?"

Thranduil smiled faintly, before frowning sharply. "Were you injured?"

Legolas blinked, before shaking his head with a small smile. "No, Da."

"You smell of healing herbs."

"Yes," he agreed softly.

"Anumi?" Kirilan asked, eyes wide as the lady slipped soundlessly from Legolas's rooms. "What brings you here?" he asked, swallowing as he realized he probably didn't want to know, if the logical reason was the correct one.

"Herita," she said simply.

He relaxed.

"How was she hurt?" Thranduil asked sharply, looking between them.

Kirilan pieced everything together a few moments after the question was asked, and internally sighed, but again thanked Eru that he'd been born as the second son. His mind just didn't work as it would have needed to, to be a good king.

"She climbed the wall in the rock room… and naturally, fell," Legolas replied blandly.

"How badly is she injured?"

Legolas shook his head. "With the herbs and healing I've done, she may be a bit sore for a day or two, but the pain was a bit more shock than substance. Any soldier wouldn't have bothered mentioning it."

"She is hardly a soldier," Anumi said softly, but her eyes were narrowed.

"I'm aware," Legolas agreed blandly, turning his head slightly to see her. "I merely meant that an adult would not consider this an injury large enough to bother with beyond personal healing."

"An adult would not have fallen at all—she is not an adult."

He sighed softly. "Thank you for your assistance," he said shortly.

Her lips tightened slightly, before she tipped her head sharply and turned towards the door.

"Anumi? As you're here already, and we apparently owe you for helping our young kin… do join us for dinner."

She blinked at Kirilan.

Thranduil looked between his sons to the elf who was trying to delicately extricate herself from their company, and saw a chance for some amusement. Rare as that was, he even less rarely passed it up. "Please, save us from our own company. After centuries of just us old bachelors, we've very little left to say to each other."

Slowly, after a long moment, she bowed her head. "As you wish," she said at length.

Thranduil was not disappointed. Anumi seemed just as willing to talk as Legolas was, though she was far more polite as Kirilan attempted to engage her in conversation than his elder son would have been when similarly indisposed. All in all, he was highly entertained.

Then he recalled one thing on his mental 'to do' list, and as usual, it popped into his head at what seemed a random interval and quickly bypassed most logical thoughts about timing to escape his tongue. "Kirilan."

Kirilan blinked, mentally shifting himself over from his rather belabored conversation with Anumi about the most recently opened garden to whatever may have caused his father to interrupt. King he may have been, but he always had a reason if he was anything other than perfectly mannered. "Yes, Father?"

"I have a task for the most trusted advisor."

After a moment, he nodded, running through where his most often needed supplies were at the present. "Of course. What, when and where?"

"Trade with the men to the north has encountered some problems, recently. What the snags are, exactly, has eluded me despite diplomatic questioning. Typically, the messengers simply know only what they have been told, and sometimes weren't even the initial one at the heart of the matter. I'd like you to leave either tonight or early tomorrow and resolve the issue."

Kirilan smiled faintly, the cataloging done, finding many pieces rather too spread for haste. "Tomorrow, Father. You know I prefer more time than Legolas to prepare before I go haring off on one of your schemes." The smile faded as he began thinking about the task ahead of him. "Any idea how involved it may become?"

"Plan at least a week," Thranduil admitted with a sigh. "Perhaps longer, as you're my son as well as an advisor."

Kirilan grinned. "An advisor in name only, as I actually am of some help, I hope."

"You are," Legolas and Thranduil stated at the same time, before smiling faintly.

Silence held for a short while, until Anumi set her plate beside Thranduil's on the sideboard, and remained there. When she had their attention, she curtseyed. "While I thank you for your hospitality, it is getting quite late, and I rise early to assist in watching the children. Pray excuse me."

"I shall walk you back to your chambers," Kirilan stated at once, rising.

"No," Anumi held up a hand, before smiling faintly. "You have much to prepare. Do not let me distract you."

"It would be an honor," Kirilan insisted.

Thranduil, his amusement more or less abating, took pity. "Kirilan, you should prepare."

Kirilan stilled, then looked to Legolas. "Would you walk Lady Anumi back, elder brother? It is not right that she wander from here unescorted, this hour."

Anumi's lips tightened, but Legolas inclined his head slightly.

Once they were a few turns on their way, she turned, pausing. "Not meaning to insult your honor or integrity," she began, "but there is no need for you to further put yourself out by seeing me all the way home. There shall be no one about to see me, nor anyone who would find it odd for me to be alone, this hour."

"Really?" Legolas asked, lifting a brow.

Her ears flushed faintly and she looked straight ahead, realizing belatedly the implications that could be drawn from her statement. "I am a Lady by my father, Prince. My mother was a true wood-elf, and those who would notice my comings and goings see her when they look at me."

A faint smile curved his lips. "So Kirilan's suggestion was entirely reversed. You will invite gossip only by _being_ escorted."

"By a Prince, no less," she agreed dryly, relaxing.

"But I have given my word, and to my blood. I must see you back."

"Back to where?"

The small smile again. "Crafty though that thought is, the word was for the spirit of the request. All the way to your rooms, my lady, and nothing less."

She tilted her head slightly, then sighed, leading the way once more. She stopped before a door, and lifted a brow.

He shook his head.

She rolled her eyes, withdrew her key, and let them in. After a brief look around, he inclined his head slightly and returned to the door.

She narrowed her eyes at his back. "You are so like your father," she grumbled, low enough most wouldn't hear it from where he stood.

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes lit with the same humor she'd seen in the King's eyes during much of the torturous meal. They even lightened the same way, the navy hitting the same shade of lazurite. "Thank you," he said, before pulling the door shut behind him.

She growled in frustration. "Wretched princes!" she hissed, before running a hand through her hair. The fight left her in a sigh, strength leaving her as well, sending her to a chair.


	3. Captured and bent to beautiful forms

(happy dance) Thanks Niri! I've been trying to get this chapter uploaded for hours, sorry it's late!

**_

* * *

_**

**_Captured and bent to beautiful forms _**

"Perhaps I'll be spending more time with the children, then," Ninith declared. "If the princes are to be so often dropping by."

"Why would you want to be in close proximity to them?" Anumi asked, quirking a brow.

"They're princes, obviously."

"Hmm. Kirilan is over-observant in many areas, and entirely dense in others. Prince Legolas is so guarded save when he doesn't mind showing something—such as when he's amused at your expense." She sighed, shaking her head as she let her fingers drift lightly over the cloth.

"You're speaking awfully familiarly, you know."

"Am I?" Anumi asked absently. "This one is nice."

"Hm. A bit dark for my tastes, but with your hair…"

Anumi shook her head. "It would look fine on you. I was actually thinking of an art piece, an intricate design to hang somewhere, reduce some draft…"

Ninith snorted. "What draft? These bloody halls are stifling for want of fresh air half the time!"

"Ninith," Anumi sighed, before giving up the attempt to win and the search for some cloth. Neither heart nor mind were into either today. She shook her head as several friends began moving to join them. "I think I shall simply wander back to my chambers. I shall see you later."

"Very well. Abandon me to shop alone."

Anumi smiled faintly. "Considering the hour, soon the shop-keepers shall turn you out."

"Don't be daft. Oh, hello Cirida."

"Hello, Ninith, you ninny."

"What have I done now?"

"Don't play games, girl, you know very well what you did." Lady Gaenal flipped the cloth they'd been considering over to see the other side before tossing it absently away, pulling at a bit of bright yellow that had been hidden beneath it.

"But…" Ninith paused, frowning. "I haven't done anything," she said slowly, her eyes narrowing. "I know I haven't."

Inirte giggled brightly, eyes shining. "But the mere hint of discovery sent you into complete defensiveness so quickly!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps you should reconsider your normal pursuits?"

Cirida chuckled, but frowned faintly as Anumi looked longingly at the door. She quirked a brow, silently asking.

Anumi smiled faintly, lowering her eyes, shrugging half-heartedly.

Cirida shook her head, and held out a small pouch while sighing.

The scent of Anumi's favorite tea rose from the pouch when Anumi's fingers closed around it, the scent alone enough to ease some of her distraction.

"I'm not that bad, you daft thing!" Ninith protested, nudging Inirte with a sharp elbow.

Inirte's almost cackling giggle was cut off when the 'nudge' sent her back enough to bump into an elf, who offered her an amused, knowing smile as his eyes flickered over her before he continued on his way.

The ladies laughed as Inirte's humor-flushed ears brightened, but no longer in laughter. She looked down, pressing her hands to her cheeks to hide the embarrassed color appearing there.

Anumi's smile widened slightly, but she caught Cirida's eye, offering a slight nod as a farewell before she moving off through a little-used small side pathway, slowly winding her way back towards the heart of the mountain where the corridors led from shops and trades to gardens and residences.

A figure coming towards her—covered entirely from sight by dark cloth and extremely well armed—made her uneasy enough to slow down, her fingers tensing, nearly curling into fists as if wishing for some further protection than nails. She looked him over as he passed, hooded cloak, half-mask over all of his face below eyes hidden by the shadow from his hood, long-sleeves, gloves, snug leggings, soft leather boots to the knees, all in shades of dark green and grey to black…

She froze and turned to glare at his back. "You're leaving her _alone?_" she demanded crossly.

His confident steps stuttered to a halt. The covered head turned slightly towards her in a demanding question.

"Her parents are gone, her grandfather stuck at that silly feast, her best known uncle still out Eru knows where to deal with trade with humans, and you're leaving her?"

He turned so he was facing her, and looked down at himself, making a dramatic search of his own form for that which declared his identity.

She snorted at his theatrics. "Your right boot."

He shifted his gaze, and then his foot, picking it up before turning it to see all of his boot, even the bottom.

"The scuffing pattern on the outside. I noticed it when you tended her after her fall. It was clearly not made that evening, and I wondered how one so obviously as adept at the art of climbing as you demonstrated yourself to be could have managed to fall off a mountain in order to create that particular pattern."

With a soft sigh, Legolas cast back the hood and quickly unhooked the mask, letting it fall around his neck. "My horse scraped me against a tree whilst in haste. You are quick."

"And you're _still_ leaving her alone."

"What choice have I? I must go. Kirilan is away, Father occupied, even if he would rather not be, Odrune and Toriad still on their holiday, Nana staying with her sister as she does every Thursday…"

Anumi closed her eyes. "Give me some way to pass."

Navy calculated her, her determination, her sincerity. He smiled grimly. "It seems I need to change my boots, anyway." He brushed past her and led her down a hall she passed through only rarely. He slipped out of sight behind a tapestry almost before she registered what he was doing.

She followed quickly, only to run into his back.

He didn't comment, simply shifted his weight a bit before pressing forward, motioning her ahead as torches sprang to life on the walls. He closed a door, locking it quickly, the key never in her sight, though she heard it used. He moved around her and led the way to a second door, which he again dealt with so swiftly she couldn't see what he was doing.

Through another tapestry after a hidden panel sprang aside, shifting back quickly once they were through, looking almost exactly like the stone it was around.

He motioned her at a far door which looked familiar, then slipped through another before she could move.

After a few steps she realized where she was, and was surprised it had eluded her as long as it had. "Nice," she commented.

"I like it," he agreed dryly, appearing from that other room, mask again in place, hood up but not pulled so far forward she couldn't see his eyes. He was wearing different boots. "I should return before dawn." He hesitated for only a moment, hand holding the tapestry slightly aside. "She was peaceful when I left."

She inclined her head in a slight nod, already heading towards the spare room Herita had been using for a little over a week.

When she entered, her heart ached.

Herita was there, yes, but hardly peaceful. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

"Bad dreams?" Anumi asked softly, gaining watery-eyed attention.

Herita sniffled and wiped her face on her sleeve before nodding silently.

"I used to have them a lot, after my mother left."

Herita's eyes widened. "Did she leave a lot?"

Anumi shook her head and sat down on the edge of the bed. "No. Only once."

"How long was she gone?"

"My mother left because she could not stay. I knew she would not return. She hasn't, and never will."

Herita sniffled again.

"But you know _exactly_ when your mother is coming home."

"Four days," Herita responded instantly, wiping her cheeks again. "I want her _now_."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but even your grandfather doesn't know where they went. You'll have to wait." She pulled mussed gold hair back from Herita's damp cheeks, gathering it at her nape. A brush sat on the nightstand, and was quickly employed straightening the dream-tossed hair.

Herita slowly relaxed, shifting on the bed to offer Anumi more room.

Anumi settled herself against the headboard, running her fingers through the long hair when Herita curled herself so her head was in Anumi's lap. "Would you like to hear a story?"

After a shaky sigh, Herita nodded. "One with a princess?"

"Alright. Let me think a moment."

Herita moved restlessly.

Anumi absently resumed stroking her hair. "Once upon a time, a princess lived in a silver hall, where all the designs were molded into the walls with Ithildin. During the day, the silver alone was pretty, but at night the entire castle was lit as if by a thousand stars, captured and bent to beautiful forms. The people loved the night, and spent more of their days asleep, so they could spend more time awake during that magnificent night."

"Were they elves?"

Anumi considered that for a time. "I think they were _like_ elves, perhaps, but not elves."

"Oh."

"Then, one day, a messenger arrived from the Queen's father, asking her to come quickly. Her sister was with child, and the impending birth was expected to be tricky.

"So the queen packed up her bags, kissed her sons on the forehead, and gave her only daughter, the youngest, a tight hug to go with the kiss. 'I'll be back soon,' she promised, before stepping into the silver carriage drawn by silver horses with manes and eyes the color of sea foam under moonlight that carried her swiftly out of sight, silver tracings and bells jangling gaily.

"The daughter waited impatiently all day, and then the next, but her mother didn't return. When she complained to her elder brother, he laughed at her, and told her the Queen had not even arrived at her sister's home yet. It was a three day journey.

"A week passed, with no news and no sign of a silver carriage.

"The girl spent her days walking the wall, watching the east, awaiting her mother's return. Every day that passed she cried a little more, until all around the wall a deep moat of salty despair locked the castle from the outside world.

"The people couldn't stand seeing one normally so happy overcome by sorrow, so they left her alone."

"All alone? Even her brothers and father?"

"All alone, entirely alone," Anumi confirmed gently. "As she could see better during the day, she slept at night, and none attempted to wake early or go to bed late to join her vigil or try to talk her out of it.

"When a month had passed, the girl was gaunt for hunger, as even when she wandered out for food there was little she could find. None of the cooks left her anything, and they locked much of the food away every morning, unlocking it every night, to keep it from pests and vermin.

"Finally, a carriage appeared on the horizon, flashing silver in the waning night. The horses pranced nervously when they approached the moat, and even the most skilled handler could not convince them to cross. The moat was too deep to ford themselves, even if they could force themselves to wander through the grief-stained water.

"The Queen alighted, and searched the wall, finding only her daughter to greet her.

"Her hands flew to her mouth when she saw the wraith-like child, and she looked back to the moat, tears welling in her eyes as she understood. 'Dearest child,' she called, 'I shall soon return. Not seven more days shall see me back, and thee in my arms.'

"She quickly returned to the carriage, and the driver listened to her a moment before snapping his whip over the horses' heads, making haste back east.

"At dawn of the seventh day, the Queen returned in a golden carriage, drawn by golden horses with eyes and manes of deep amber. The horses stopped at the edge of the moat, awaiting the driver's call.

"He sent them on, and they forded the water fearlessly, nostrils flaring as they pulled the golden carriage up the far slope and to the castle doors. There, the daughter did her best to open the doors, but was so weakened the driver had to alight to help her.

"Once inside, the Queen embraced her tightly, her hands soon flying to the hollows in her cheeks.

"Grimly, she marched down the corridors, pounding on doors until every last sleepy person in the castle was awake, cowering before her fury. Plates and platters, goblets and pitchers were brought forward, overflowing, for the daughter to eat her fill.

"As the daughter ate, the Queen questioned the people as to her actions, soon learning that they thought her vigil foolish.

"When her daughter was full, the Queen took her hand and led her to her room, where the Queen pulled out the girl's trunk. 'Fill it.'

"'Mother?'"

"'Fill it, my daughter, for we are not staying here any longer.'

"The girl quickly did as she was bid, and the two departed at dusk, the Queen angrily whirling on her husband and sons when they protested. 'You did not mind my leaving before, and would have let my daughter die because she did? None have sought her in her grief because it makes them uneasy. This castle is full of those unwilling to see the truth, caught up as they are in the ethereal beauty of light in darkness. My daughter has my will to face the truth head on, and so she shall be raised as I was, in the light.' She marched back to the carriage, where the golden horses were being petted by her little daughter.

"Together they traveled from the Castle of Night to the Castle of Light, where the Queen's sister, brothers, and parents lived.

"No one ever heard from the Castle of Night again, but it was rumored they all starved to death."

"Why?"

Anumi smiled faintly. "Because they would not face old, weakened sorrow even to gather themselves more food. Rather foolish, weren't they?"

Herita nodded, covered a yawn, and snuggled closer.

Anumi let herself drift for a while, until Herita was fully asleep. Then she moved the little elf around until she could stretch out beside her, pulling her closer in a hug to offer reassurance if it was sought.


	4. Embers in the hearth

_**Chapter 4: Embers in the hearth**_

Anumi's dreams were interrupted as the door opened. Hazily she wondered why her father was checking in on her—she'd been an adult for centuries, now, so it was hardly…

She wasn't in her rooms.

Taking a deep, slow breath, she moved her eyes enough to clear remaining sleep and allow them to focus clearly as an elf entered the room.

"Anumi?!? What are you doing here?"

"Shh," she scolded, levering herself up onto her elbow slowly, checking on Herita. "Be quiet, Prince Kirilan. She's been upset quite enough tonight." Once sure Herita was not waking, she yawned, covering her mouth delicately. "You may go to your own rooms, Prince Kirilan."

"Why are you here?"

She sighed. "I ran into your brother as he was leaving. I scolded him for leaving her alone, and sort of… volunteered to watch her."

"He couldn't have asked Father?"

"Tonight is the Harvest Celebration, Prince Kirilan, surely a week away hasn't entirely addled you." She yawned once more, this time not bothering to be polite about it.

"Nana, then."

"Does she have a sister?"

"Yes, one she stays with…"

"Every Thursday? Am I really such a poor substitute that you're so keen to be rid of me?"

"No!" His answer was swift, and he took a few steps into the room. "I just don't like finding you in my brother's rooms."

"Well, your brother's rooms are where she is. Where else should I be?"

Silence fell for a moment. "Well, I am here now," he said at length. "I shall watch over her."

"Actually, I—"

The door Anumi had discovered last time went to a bathing chamber slipped open, an elf dressed in darkness erupting from those deeper shades, quickly pinning Kirilan against the main door, making it close abruptly with the impact. The attack took but a moment, and cut off the only source of light beyond the smoldering embers in the hearth.

Kirilan fought back viciously, until with a muttered oath the dark elf snapped his elbow up under Kirilan's chin, snapping his head back so forcefully it hit the wall, spots and lights dancing in his vision for a moment.

The other elf took that moment to leap backwards out of immediate danger from Kirilan's as yet sheathed sword, and quickly pulled the half-mask down after shoving the hood back.

"Legolas! For Eru's sake, what were you doing?" Kirilan rasped, rubbing his chin.

Legolas snorted. "I return to hear heated voices in my niece's room. Was I supposed to simply head to bed?" He swung the long blade around his wrist before sheathing it upon his back. He looked over to the bed, taking in the elves there. "We did not disturb her?" he frowned.

"She… had a difficult night," Anumi said softly, stroking the soft gold hair back from glazed eyes.

"Well, Legolas and I are here, Anumi, it is fine for you to return home."

"At this hour? What is the point?" Legolas asked, slowly unbuckling the strap of his quiver.

Kirilan's lips thinned. "It is hardly proper—"

"For her to sneak out of here at such an hour. How many would believe the truth if they saw her leave two hours before dawn, versus an hour or two after it?" The quiver landed on the rug with a small, hollow thud.

"Anumi, come," Kirilan demanded.

"Go or stay as you wish," Legolas countered.

Anumi looked between the brothers, wondering at the tensions between them that kept their eyes locked together. Still, the hour was too early, and she was comfortable and warm. She settled back down behind Herita.

Kirilan let out a muttered curse before storming from the room.

Legolas caught the door before it could close with the force applied, shutting it gently, instead. As he bent for his quiver, Anumi saw a dark glitter on his back.

She rose to investigate, probing the glitter, provoking a hiss. "And how good are your field manners at this?" she snapped.

"I shall be fine," he growled, straightening.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then snapped her hand up, her fingernails gripping his ear tightly.

His breath hissed out again, his jaw clenching. Navy eyes darkened furiously.

She pulled him to the door he'd slipped through, and then through the far door that connected to his room. She pushed him to the large bed in his room, ripping the quiver from his hands, moving determinedly to the cabinet that had been open when Herita was tended. She opened it this time, rooting around for the herbs and supplies that would be needed.

When she returned, he hadn't moved, but his dark eyes had changed. Now, through the fury, she saw a challenge, a subtle dare.

She set her chin and pulled the cords holding his blades to his back loose, then stripped them off entirely, tossing them to a chair, soon followed by his bow.

His mouth opened for a moment against her harsh treatment of his weapons, but she quirked a brow.

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.

She studied him for a while, and then shrugged. "The shirt is ruined, anyway," she told him calmly, moving around him.

He turned to watch her, but couldn't really see her hands as they found the tattered edges of cloth. When his ears caught the soft ripping, he tried harder to see. "What are you—"

"You're stubborn," she told him, continuing to tear his shirt.

He snorted. "Pot, this is Kettle."

She smacked the back of his head and then pulled harshly, finally getting through the last seams.

"Eru!" he exclaimed, turning to glare at her. "You are absurdly infuriating!"

"As are you!" She pushed against his shoulder, trying to see the wound. "I am only trying to help, and you fight me at every turn!"

"Why should you help?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You don't like me?" he offered sarcastically.

"No more than you do me," she agreed, firmly. "Nor is it because you're the bloody prince. Very bloody," she added under her breath, seeing the spread of moisture. "I'm trying to help because you should be tended when you have such a wound, and I'd imagine your pride doesn't allow you to bother the healers," she growled, eyes narrowing as she recalled how he'd worded the extent of Herita's injuries to his father.

"This is a minor wound," he protested.

"Minor! Untreated, this will scar!"

He snorted. "So?"

She opened her mouth, but then closed it, considering her response. Her initial retort was something along the lines of expecting him to be more vain—but it didn't matter, for him. He could look like an orc, and females would still be flattered if he approached them.

Merely because he was the prince.

And he hardly looked like an orc. If he wasn't so aggravating, she'd consider him one of the better looking males living in the halls. Well built, too.

She decided on silence, and nudged his shoulder.

With a sigh, he turned.

"How do you stand so little light all the time?" she grumbled.

"I know what I look like… why bother seeing myself?"

"What—"

He rolled his eyes and absently moved his hand, torches springing to life.

"Oh, Eru," she exclaimed.

He snorted.

All around the room, mirror after mirror took up the spare space between torches. Most went nearly from the floor to the ceiling.

"Couldn't you… remove some? Like, all but one or two?"

"They were crafted into the rock," he answered, a trace of an old grumble in his voice.

She frowned, but used the light he'd given to see the wound. She left briefly for some water, and returned to find he'd removed what had remained of his shirt.

She held back a smile, and considered the wound's placement. "It will be less painful and easier if you lie down."

He didn't move for a long moment, long enough for her to think he was going to ignore her. Then he shifted, one booted toe pressing against his opposite heel.

She rolled her eyes when he winced, and reached down to pull his boots off herself. She tossed them aside and lifted a brow at him.

He closed his eyes for an instant, and then obediently laid down.

After cleaning the wound, she began treating it, her eyes drawn slowly along his skin, seeing an endless map of scars. Some were new, angry red, but most were faded, paler than the natural pale of elven skin. The harder she looked, the more she saw, and it troubled her.

The entire hall heard if a prince was injured.

She could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard of him being taken to the healers since she came of age. A head injury, a poisoned arrow, and if she remembered right, he'd been sat on by a spider once… at least, that was what she'd heard, which was not the entire story, she knew. How could it honestly be?

So why had none of these wounds been reported?

The answer was as obvious as her fingers on his skin.

She finished tending the wound, drawing her own healing power into her fingers to help what little she could with the natural process, and then bandaged it. She traced the newest scar, a puckered strike from his right shoulder down towards his left hip, but it curved before reaching the top of his leggings, curling upwards along the slight ridge of his spine, nearly doubling back over itself. It looked like it would have been deep enough to sever his spine, had its course not been changed.

"Do you hide them for the people, or for yourself?" she asked softly, seeing centuries of silent suffering written upon his back, his arms.

"Both."

She nodded absently, gathering the supplies she hadn't used, finding a waste bin for those she had. After tidying up, she turned to see him still as he was, though a small move of his hand let the lights burn down until only the slight glow from the fire let her see. He was lying with his head by the foot of the bed, and didn't look likely to move any time soon.

With a sigh, she grabbed a blanket from the chest at the end of the bed, shaking it out before laying it down beside him so it was in easy reach when he wanted it. She pulled a pillow from the head, and for that gesture got a small sigh of relief as he pulled it under his chest, letting it prop his shoulder up.

He looked so like a child with a favorite toy that she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snickering as she made her way back to the bathing chamber that led to Herita.

His words paused her in the doorway. "Herita would like to see you at breakfast, I'm sure."

"You're welcome," she retorted, "and I accept the invitation," she added, yawning. She returned to the bed, pulling the light cover back up over the restless young elf, humming quietly until both were able to rest comfortably once more.


	5. Being foolishly presumptuous

**_Chapter 5: Being foolishly presumptuous_**

For once in a meeting of advisors and commanders, Kirilan was not only sitting at the table, but actively involved. His distaste for Urigael had often held him silent, for fear of alienating his cousin entirely… but, it wasn't like they had any history anyway, save the conflict that always arose in these meetings. There was just enough of an age disparity between the Royal Cousin and the princes that they'd never played together, even when they could convince Nana to let them wander the rooms with the other children.

"Have you—" Kirilan broke off, taking a breath, changing the intended words. "Have you considered how such an act would appear to the people?" he asked much more calmly.

"Yes. They'll see that we're taking action."

"Against elves that are doing them a service, without being paid, applauded or in any other way recognized for the risk that they're taking? I can see them thanking us in droves."

"The risk of being caught and tried?" Urigael countered, crossing his arms.

"The risk of losing life or limb," Kirilan snapped. "Or have you forgotten that orcs, spiders and trolls do, on occasion, cause injury?" he drawled.

"Prince Kirilan, if I may interject?"

Kirilan inclined his head to Zalian, leaning back in his 'official' chair. Commander Zalian waited for silence. "I agree that this group of vigilante elves is doing the entire wood a great service. They are operating as an elite troop would—very well trained. I can only assume that this group has been working for centuries, which would help explain why reports one week seem to overestimate the danger, based on observations the following week. Still, there is always danger in the presence of such a powerful group. They could be assassins. I suggest we determine their loyalties. Send an assassin to learn of them, an assassin all trust to work for the King."

"And who would that be?" Urigael asked, sneering. "No one knows who the assassins are—it's rumored even the assassins themselves don't know who the other assassins are."

"Do you think no one knows? How well could a weapon be used, if there was no way to wield it?" Legolas spoke for the first time in some while. "The assassins are mine, Urigael, and I agree, Zalian. Until it is known for whom they work, or to what purpose, we cannot trust them to remain as they are. As long as they simply make sport of the darkness in our home, they are an asset to be praised."

"Then you intend to expend an assassin's time on this?" Urigael asked, disbelief ringing clearly.

"Why not? Do you think a guard could find them, if they either are assassins or were by assassins trained?"

Urigael tensed, his lips tightening. "Of course not, but even one assassin's fee for such time as this may take—"

"Is irrelevant. The fee is for death. Smaller things are rated appropriately. Such as this would be considered a service to the King."

"Shall you send out two assassins, in case one is the leader or a member?"

Legolas shook his head, getting to his feet. "There is one I trust implicitly. If he is the leader, or a member, I shall know."

"And, in fact, may already?" Urigael hissed, shooting to his own feet.

"Indeed," Legolas agreed, his tone airy as he headed to the door.

Urigael started to speak once more, but Kirilan followed Legolas swiftly, effectively blocking out anything their cousin may have wished to add.

They weren't far down the hall before curiosity overcame him. "Do you know?"

Legolas sighed, but half-smiled. "I couldn't tell you if I did, or for that matter, if I do."

"Why not? I'm not only a trusted advisor, but your only brother."

"True. And should Father decide to tell you the names, ranks, titles, status and other information about our assassins, then you shall know. Until then, he and I alone shall."

"Your only brother," Kirilan shook his head in mock sadness.

"My only cousin," he countered.

Kirilan snorted. "Honestly! What could possibly be good about stopping people from hunting orcs or spiders? If we persecuted this group, then what would happen? Hunters searching out food might let them pass for fear of recrimination."

"I doubt it would be quite as bad as all that, though no doubt that would be the joke throughout the kingdom."

A small smile curved Kirilan's lips at a thought.

Legolas, glancing sideways at his brother, caught the smile and made an accurate mental leap. He closed his eyes. "Let it go," he groaned.

Kirilan chuckled softly. "Oh, the looks on their faces," he mused gleefully.

"So they saw I'm not a heartless troll," he drawled.

"When it comes to your dear baby sister," Kirilan agreed. "At least she was far better behaved," he offered.

"Hmm." The noise might have been agreement. Or, it might not.

Kirilan grinned. "She was amusingly distraught."

Legolas rolled his head to pin a look on him. "Her daughter told her to thank me for her life and punish her. It's little wonder she was confused and upset."

"No," Kirilan agreed, a bit contrite. "How long did they decide?"

"An extra seventy years from when she should have been able to climb the wall."

Kirilan let out a low whistle. "Kind of harsh."

Legolas half-smiled, sharing a look as Kirilan smiled as well, both smiles growing to true grins. "It's a good thing she hasn't yet grown old enough to ask us about when we were children."

"Yes. Children that age never seem to grasp the idea that all adults were once children, too. If Father knew the number of times we snuck into the rock room to tackle the wall…"

"We'd probably still be confined to our rooms," Legolas agreed, chuckling. "We were never hurt, though."

"Hurt badly enough to make us go to the healers," Kirilan countered, shuddering. "I can't imagine why you didn't—you took several nasty falls."

"I learned from each of them… as did you."

Kirilan snorted. "Yes—not to try to climb so high until I was taller than you were. Looking back… it's amazing you never broke anything."

"I fall well," he retorted dryly.

Kirilan smiled crookedly, but it faded as they passed a turn in the corridor.

Legolas noticed his attention shift, and glanced back. "There is nothing pressing, if you wish to watch the children," he offered softly.

"No," Kirilan shook his head. "I'm just… worried about Anumi."

"Why?"

"She hasn't been with them for nearing two months, now, according to Nana."

"It isn't her duty, Kirilan. Perhaps she has other things to occupy her time."

"But she loves the children. She's a lady, so she hasn't an employment, merely her own amusements. No matter what they come to be I can't imagine they could completely distract her from the children."

"Perhaps she is being courted," Legolas offered, shrugging.

Kirilan shook his head stubbornly. "Nana would know, but she didn't know what was keeping her away."

Legolas quirked a brow. "You're taking an inordinate amount of interest in this."

Kirilan looked studiously at the floor.

"Have you spoken to her father?" Legolas asked on a sigh.

Kirilan started to speak, flushed, and looked away abashedly. "I… don't know who her father is," he admitted, shamefully.

Legolas eyed his glowing ears with amusement. "Well, it should be easy enough to find out. Simply knock on the door, and if she doesn't answer, then the male at the door is probably her father."

Kirilan glared at Legolas for his humor. "I don't know where she lives, either."

Legolas stopped walking, staring at his brother. "You're so interested in this elf that you would put yourself at odds with me over her when you know you're being foolishly presumptuous, but you know neither where she lives nor who her father is? I've no interest, yet I know what her sitting room looks like."

Kirilan flushed more darkly, the color seeping from his ears to his cheeks. "I… She's… Actually, she's always excused herself from being walked back, no matter my persistence."

A small smile suddenly curved Legolas's lips. "I'd forgotten that," he mused absently, continuing down the hall.

"What?" Kirilan demanded, frowning as he caught up.

"She avoids such purposely. There would be far more talk if she arrived with a princely escort than if she arrived alone—which you should know is true."

"I suppose," Kirilan grumbled.

"If you are so worried, I shall—" Legolas broke off, frowning as an elf stumbled out of a small path into their own.

A pale hand reached up, seeking the wall for balance.

His eyes narrowed on the hand, and he was moving forward even as Kirilan frowned. "I'd think it's a bit early in the day to be completely drunk," he muttered.

Legolas caught the hand and then the elf it was attached to as she crumpled. "She's not drunk, fool," he hissed, shifting her until he could pick her up. "Look at her hand," he instructed, blocking Kirilan from seeing her face.

Kirilan rolled his eyes. "I'm not a child for you to teach, Legolas," he complained.

"Well, this is one lesson you should learn. Look at it," was the snapped retort.

Kirilan glared at the back of Legolas's head before looking at the hand. He blinked. "It's bloody."

"And?"

Kirilan's lips tightened, but he studied it more closely, irritation quickly forgotten in his sudden shock. "The nail-beds are blue," he whispered. "What's wrong with her?"

"Suffice it to say we shall be calling for a healer as soon as we get her to bed." Legolas straightened, hefting her closer, the limp hand falling down from where he'd held it for Kirilan to see over his shoulder, leaving a faint reddish-brown trail skittering behind it.

Kirilan sucked in a breath when Legolas turned with his burden. "Anumi!" he whispered. He lifted struck eyes to find the Commander watching him, eyes cold and guarded as ever. He shook his head. "Legolas…"

"You needed to know the signs, Kirilan, even if you believe her dear to you."

"I don't _believe_ her to be, I—"

"You're a hopeless romantic. We can argue, or we can attempt to save her life. Your choice."

Kirilan ground his teeth together, but inclined his head. He followed when Legolas passed him, diverting only for a moment to catch a servant to send for a healer to Lady Anumi's rooms.

They stopped before a door, and Legolas shifted her, his fingers wandering the waist of her gown for a key within a hidden pocket.

Kirilan reached past him to try the door.

Both stared when it opened.

Legolas muttered something that sounded distinctly like dwarven curses under his breath before shouldering the door fully open, moving to lay her upon the couch.

"What can I do?" Kirilan asked.

"Find the bathing room, get some water. Check for any healing supplies." Legolas gave the orders almost absently, looking at her hands, feeling her wrist for a pulse as he brushed her dark hair back from dim, glassy eyes.

He frowned, studying her eyes intently until Kirilan returned with a bowl.

"Catch a servant, have her father sent for, as you no doubt thought to get a healer but neglected your other duty."

Kirilan grimaced, but left the room.

"What's driven you so far?" Legolas asked the unresponsive elf quietly. He bent to smell her breath, and shook his head. "This is foolish, Anumi," he told her, holding her wrist.

Pascail soon arrived, his bag quickly set out when he saw Legolas. "What do you think?" he asked politely. Legolas was well-learned in herbs, and Pascail was a trusted healer—the one the servants always sought first if asked to find one by a member of the royal family. The two were close to being almost friends—it was personality alone that deemed they never become closer than Prince and Healer, Student and Mentor.

Legolas glanced at the door. "She has nearly faded, but be… delicate. My brother… is not entirely clear-sighted, around this particular lady." He let go of her wrist for Pascail to take just before Kirilan returned, grumbling about how 'they were never around when you really needed them'. He looked between the three, emotions flittering quickly across his features.

"Well? Can you heal her?" Kirilan asked impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Pascail made a motion with his hand, reminiscent of both swatting and dismissing.

Legolas held back a smile and collared Kirilan to a chair outside of Pascail's immediate reach, taking a book from the well-stocked set of shelves before taking a chair for himself.

"Legolas?" a familiar voice asked from the door. "What are you…" the elf trailed off to see Pascail kneeling beside the couch, his body not hiding more than the face of the elf lying there.

Lord Cabrical strode forward, his face paling as he saw it was indeed the rooms' owner being tended. His face grayed when he saw the grey shade of her skin, the faint blue of her lips. He swallowed heavily, closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked sharply at Legolas.

Legolas closed the book and got to his feet. "I was unaware you had a child," he said softly. "Had I known…"

Cabrical inclined his head slightly, resting a steadying hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "I know, I understand. I did not mean for you to know… after all, every other Lord here has pushed their daughters upon you," he smiled tightly.

Legolas nodded faintly, lifting his hand to Cabrical's shoulder, squeezing even as he pushed slightly, moving the lord to a chair. "You know why?" he asked, tipping his head at the elf they were all there for.

"I can imagine," he said shortly, his color returning a bit as he settled down to think. He pressed his palms together, fingertips firmly against his lips. Finally he closed his eyes, and sighed. Kirilan was hassling Pascail again, and so didn't notice as Cabrical got to his feet, drawing Legolas to the far corner of her sitting room. "Pascail is a good healer, and shall bring her back."

"But for how long?"

"My point," Cabrical agreed. "She… stays here for me, Legolas. And for me she curbs her desires to be beyond the mountain. My fears have bound her indoors."

"You think it is this that kills her? She is of more than enough years that if that is the case, it would have happened long ago."

"She had freedom with the children—they have staved off the approach for centuries, now… and so I thought they always would, but it seems they have lost their effect."

Legolas hesitated.

"Speak."

"She has stopped going to the children."

Cabrical paled slightly. "She chose this?"

Legolas shrugged. "I do not know her well enough to say."

"How do you know her, at all? She had not mentioned you. Prince Kirilan, yes, but not you, Legolas."

"Odrune left me Herita's guardian when she and Toriad headed off for their fun and the conception of my future nephew."

Cabrical nodded, his entire body tense.

Legolas saw the distraction for what it was. "Will you resend your wish that she remain safely within the mountain, after this?"

Cabrical bit his lower lip so hard it bled. He grimaced, then rolled his eyes and let it bleed. "No… and yes. If I told her to go outside now, she would be totally vulnerable, Legolas. I haven't even taught her the basics of archery. I don't know that she's even held a blade that wasn't on the dinner table."

"She could be taught."

"Not in a timely enough fashion. I know her well enough… when she's let beyond the walls, let truly free, she would forget the caution she knows she should have when out there. She would soak up the freedom, the life of the wood, and… I do not think she would survive more than a few trips, if lucky. If she didn't simply get lost and fall into the river, she would quickly fall prey to one of the many predators fought in the wood."

Slowly, Legolas nodded. "I can imagine, from what I do know of her."

Cabrical smiled thinly. "I've no doubt you can. When awakened, she is very… spirited. Let suddenly free, but without the experience to sense danger…"

Legolas nodded once more, and waited expectantly.

With a grimace, Cabrical inclined his head. "Yes, you've learned all of your lessons very well, little prince. I have the ultimate favor to ask of you, though I have no right at all."

"You have just as much of a right as my father has," Legolas countered in a low voice.

Cabrical glanced back at the healer and Kirilan, his gaze pausing worriedly on glassy blue eyes. "I thank you for the sentiment, but you've every right and cause to deny me."

"Speak, Master Cabrical," Legolas urged.

At the old title, Cabrical returned his gaze to the navy ones he'd faced so often over blades. He drew himself a little straighter, and donned the mask he usually wore. "Imladris."

Legolas quirked a brow, gazing absently over Cabrical's shoulder for a moment. "It would solve all problems, save that she would be near no one she knows, including you."

"Yes, and it is a heavy price, but messages do travel on occasion, and you are a more than sufficient teacher for any that may come while I visit her."

"I had a good master," Legolas said softly. "And your request?"

Cabrical's grey eyes held to navy. "That you see her safely there, and see that she will be happy, that she will recover."

Legolas blinked. "You could do so just as well, if not better."

"I do not know the way, I know the Wood. You know the way, and you know the Lords of Imladris. You could beseech them as I could not."

"Imladris is a haven for all who seek rest or healing. They would not deny any elf… they don't even deny dwarves."

"Be that as it may… I would feel better knowing you had seen her cared for than if I went and unknowingly tried to. I will visit her perhaps in several months, but initially… I think it best you go."

"And spare you that goodbye, at least," Legolas said softly. Then he bowed his head. "Upon my blood, I shall see her safely to Imladris."

"You didn't need to swear it, Legolas. I know you would have done your best even without it."

Legolas half-smiled. "True. But with an oath, Father can't deny that I must go. He has been hesitant to send me to Imladris recently. Before long, Kirilan shall be the prince to go, I think."

"Your role here is becoming more demanding. There isn't really time for you to be taking off to the valley."

"No," Legolas agreed quietly, but there was a shadow in his eyes Cabrical knew well enough was a sign of a troubled heart, but he also knew well enough not to ask.

"Then I thank you for your oath, my friend. May Eru protect you on your journey."

Legolas half-smiled. "May _you_ protect the Wood in my absence."

A dangerous glint lit in Cabrical's eyes. "An honor, my prince," he inclined his head with the words that were spoken at nearly a purr.


	6. Invite talk of impropriety

**_Chapter 6: Invite talk of impropriety _**

Cabrical looked around the room with a frown. "Are you going to be ready? Unless there is a delay I'm not expecting, you will leave tomorrow."

"I… will be prepared," Anumi said slowly, looking around at the rooms that had been hers for over a thousand years.

With a sigh, Cabrical pulled her close, guiding her head to his shoulder. "I know you do not want to go," he admitted softly.

She managed a weak smile. "How could you not?"

His returning smile was rueful. "You have not complained."

"Haven't I?"

"Only by your reluctance to pack."

"I cannot take much," she shrugged, pulling back. "It becomes a matter of what I _cannot_ bear to leave behind…"

He sighed, and lightly ran his fingers down her cheek. "And then, when you see all that you cannot bear to leave but cannot pack—the children, the memories, the friends… packing decorative items means little. I do understand, my dearest."

"I know."

With a nod, he glanced around once more. "I've asked a friend to escort you. He'll be here shortly for last minute things, to inform you of his plans, and so on. I shall see you in the morning." He kissed her brow, studied her eyes, and closed his before leaving.

Anumi promptly sat, lifting a shaking hand to her head, feeling the chill there. A soft knock came before she could properly consider setting to work packing a few changes of clothes and perhaps something to entertain herself on the trip.

The door opened before she could call out or find her feet.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously.

"Just checking to be sure you were readying yourself for tomorrow properly."

She blinked, and then blanched. "You're the one taking me to Imladris?"

"Is that a problem?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"No, just a rude shock," she grumbled. "I'll be ready," she offered testily when he remained where he was, watching her.

"You have packed?"

"I was getting to that when my father came in to be maudlin."

"We _are_ leaving before mid-morning. If you are not finished then, you will not finish."

She shook her head slightly. "I don't doubt it."

"You _have_ said your goodbyes to the children?"

She bit her lip.

"You'd best do it soon."

"I know."

He frowned at her. "I mean _very_ soon. They will begin heading in for dinner in under an hour, and we'll leave before they're all gathered tomorrow."

"I know," she whispered.

"I'll escort you," he said after a moment.

"I will bid your niece farewell, Prince Legolas, you've no need to so concern yourself."

"Yet I am concerned, as you are yet quite pale and show no intention to rise. To be sure you do not again collapse in a deserted hallway, I shall escort you." He crossed his arms over his chest belligerently. "Preparations are made, I do not wish this trip put off any farther—it would be wearing on all involved."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then pushed herself to her feet, determined not to let him see the slight unsteadiness she retained from her slow and slight return to health. "It is my last hard task, as I've just endured Father's own troubled heart at sending me away."

"He thinks it is for the best."

"I know." She waited for him to leave so she could lock the door, and watched his shoulders ease a little. "You found me, then?"

"I _caught_ you," he corrected, studying the shade of her skin for a moment. "I knew there was something wrong by the way you walked, then saw the color of your nails. If I hadn't, you'd have taken a nasty blow to the head. It was a narrow hall, and I was too far to have caught you if I was not already intending to assist you. You were not going to the healers."

She took a moment to grasp the shift in conversation. "No," she agreed softly.

He let the silence hang for a long moment. He gave in with a soft sigh. "Were you going outside?"

"Attempting to, yes."

He nodded. "I was hoping you'd had presence of mind enough for that, though avoiding the children was foolish."

"I had my reasons."

"No doubt," he dismissed absently. "The scene you were working on…"

"Destroyed," she broke in harshly.

"It was rather interesting," he protested mildly.

She laughed bitterly. "A scene of the woods… what do I know of the woods? I have seen them only in paintings, in tapestries, in engravings."

"It was intense, and actually fairly accurate."

"It was also stained with blood from numb fingers attempting to convince the mind life wasn't slipping away."

"Blood can be washed out."

"Not out of memory. I'd always have remembered that feeling, always remember realizing that I was bleeding but I didn't feel it. So disconnected, unbalanced, ill… I couldn't bear to look upon it, nor to finish it." She waved her hand to emphasize her words, and he promptly caught it, drawing it halfway across his body as his close and free hand came up sharply to curl around her upper arm with steadying force… everything accomplished smoothly well before she realized she'd overbalanced at all. She stopped, waited until she felt stable on her feet, and pulled her arm to her side.

He remained silent, and for that, she silently thanked the Valar. He fell into step beside her when she began walking once more.

"I suppose you'll be seeing me back again, too?"

"Naturally," was the grim reply.

"Naturally," she sighed. Suddenly she stopped, grimacing at her own thoughtlessness. "Do you know where the children are, or have we been wandering aimlessly?"

Navy eyes looked at her solemnly, his displeasure clear enough. "I had hoped you would have protested the departure if you were yet so ill."

"I will not have to do much of anything, Prince Legolas. I'll merely sit on a horse, after all, and sitting is all I seem to be doing anyway. Besides, why draw it out? If I must leave, let me go and have done with the whole mess. I'll probably feel better when this mountain is to my back, anyway."

"Physically, perhaps," he agreed softly. "They are in the game room, today."

She looked at him for a long moment before continuing on the path they'd been taking. "For all that you do often irritate me, Prince, I prefer your methods to your brother's."

He glanced at her, and slowly inclined his head. "Were I in your shoes, I would hate to be fussed over."

She found a true smile curving her lips for the first time in many weeks. "I can't imagine you fussing over anyone, as I've seen how you dealt with Herita in crisis."

"Perhaps not, but there are times to press, and times to let go. He would press to show his care. I let go."

"Because you don't?"

He shrugged. "You're of no importance to me personally, beyond being Cabrical's daughter and my charge to Imladris. Herita is fond of you, though not terribly attached, so there is that to add a bit of duty to the responsibility. Kirilan… adds more. But elf to elf," another shrug, "I don't care, beyond your presence as one of my subjects, which, individually, is actually rather less than it is for the whole. So why upset you when upset is the last thing you need in your current state?"

She shook her head. "My state must indeed be a poor one for me to actually take comfort from that cold statement."

"You cannot walk and talk without being unbalanced, and you doubt that?"

She sighed. "What was that about letting go?"

His lips thinned. "I am to see to your safety—I've sworn to it. By my blood, in fact, so safely you shall arrive… unless I'm in Mandos and unable to see to it. That said…" His eyes were narrowed, darker than their normal navy.

"You're angry I'm not better than I am," she finished, shrugging. "Sorry, not much I can do about it. Especially as I'm not exactly looking forward to leaving my home for the rest of time."

"If you stay, you will fade. You've proven that."

She sighed, but inclined her head slightly. "That doesn't mean I want to go."

He stopped, facing her in the broad corridor. "There comes a time in the lives of many immortals when we get to make a choice. Choosing one path does not always preclude later choosing another, unless the path is ended before the diversion arises once more. You chose, not long ago, not to step from the path to death. The split in the wood has come before your feet once again. Consider wisely… but do me a favor, and think about it at least until we reach Imladris. Though your father would understand, I would far rather not break my oath to him."

"How do you know him, anyway? He is not an advisor, nor in the service."

"He taught me a few things, and taught them well," he answered, his eyes a familiar cryptic she'd seen too often in her father's to bother pressing for a better answer. "Besides that, I know every Lord in the hall, and I thought I knew all of the Ladies. Apparently a few prefer their anonymity."

"Very few. No doubt many prance before you every chance they get."

He sighed.

She found herself smiling at his agreement, and unable to hide it.

He let out an irritated noise, but moved aside for her to enter the game room.

Almost at once her name came from fifteen different places, echoed again in twenty others. The children surrounded her, remonstrating her with their happy cries and pleas for games or stories. She closed her eyes, and sank to the ground, catching a young elf to pull close.

The girl hugged her tightly, and cuddled into her hold.

"My dear children," she whispered, smiling tightly as they shushed themselves so all could hear her. "I am leaving tomorrow."

"Where are you going?"

"To Imladris."

"Oh! You're going with Uncle?"

Anumi found Herita's eyes in the crowd. "Yes."

"Why can't I go?"

"Because the path is dangerous, child… and I shall not be coming back, perhaps ever again."

A chorus of denial broke out then, silenced slowly as her eyes overflowed.

One of the older children worked his way up close, and brushed her tears off of her cheeks. "You're really not coming back?" he asked, pained disbelief in his voice.

Looking at him, she saw the toddler who'd chased after his elder sister who now had a babe of her own. She swallowed hard. "As my path now lies, I shall never return. One day, I will cross to the other shore. Any of you who choose that path may find me there."

"Why are you leavin', Nummi?" a little one asked, mumbling it around a grubby thumb.

"My father thinks I shall be happier in Imladris, and safer as well."

"You aren't happy here?"

"I've been very happy, my darlings, but I can no longer stay. My father bids me depart, and so I head west tomorrow."

"We don't want you to go," the lad said, moving around a small one to hug her.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, for his ears only. He was old enough to understand that, and he simply held her more tightly.

"Shall you ever visit?" he asked as he pulled back.

She shook her head. "Not unless the wood is made safe for travel, which will probably not happen before most leave for the West, if then." She answered questions, told stories, and played quiet games—those that did not require her to rise from her position—until they had been called home by family or guardians.

Once the last was gone, she let the tears flow freely, ignoring the presence of a prince when he sat quietly beside her. He made no comment on her tears, and no movement to suggest irritation or impatience, so she took her time to weep, not forcing them back before him as she had before her father and Kirilan.

Finally her tears dried, though more for lack of moisture than grief. She stared blindly long after they failed to flow, until Legolas shifted uneasily beside her, moving so he could see her eyes.

"I'm yet alive," she told him softly, blinking a few times so she could see properly once more. "I may not be able to rise on my own," she admitted shakily, "but I'm alive."

Silently he moved to a crouch, holding her arms firmly, pulling her along as he rose. She leaned into him until she felt her feet, but didn't pull away sharply, as he was the nearest thing to hold should she begin to fall… and he was blessedly steady.

Seeing or sensing her dilemma, he hooked her hand under his arm to give the impression of courtly manners, but she understood, and accepted the underlying offer of support as her pride would not have allowed her to do earlier. As it had already taken such a beating, she decided a further blow wouldn't kill her. "I suppose a truce of sorts should be considered, as we shall spend the next few days with only ourselves for company."

She heard him exhale. "While not dismissing a truce, Anumi, I feel I must point out we shall not be alone."

"We shan't?" She frowned. "Trips to the Dell are uncommon, usually undertaken only by yourself or another _single_ member of the guard."

"Yes… for messages. You are a Lady, after all, and I a Prince. To travel alone would be to invite talk of impropriety, and while it may have little impact upon you there, as those of Imladris are a bit freer in such concerns, it would create a hassle for me, for many years. Ladies wishing to be escorted merely for the 'quality time' alone. Also, the wood has grown darker of recent months, despite the best efforts of those involved, so another with skill in the arts of war is desired. After that, it must be noted that my own position in this wood has been elevated in recent centuries—I have more responsibilities, which swell as I prove myself able to handle them. A new messenger has been chosen, and will travel the path with us, and with me a few more times to learn not only the route but the politics of Imladris. Beyond that… I thought a healer might do well to ease hearts, and know one with kin in Imladris he would like to visit. All told, there will be five departing the mountain on the morrow, though you the only of your gender."

"Shouldn't that be more cause for talk?" she muttered, a little annoyed that there would be so many to act well around. With Legolas alone… perhaps she needn't have acted.

"It is expected that I shall keep Brehurin from bothering you, should any expect he would as he has been seeing the same maid for near on three centuries. Should any expect such behavior from me, Pascail shall keep them silent—and he has grown children in the Dell."

"And the other messenger, then? Who goes to still tongues about him?"

"Pascail and I," he answered, a shrug lifting the hand she still had in the crook of his arm.

"You've given me their names, yet not his. Why?"

"Your mind is becoming sharper," he mused.

"So it is. But you're avoiding my question."

He nodded. "You will know tomorrow, is that not enough?"

She looked at him as they walked, trusting him more than she had realized until that moment to guide and steady her. "Kirilan?"

He glanced at her sharply.

"You as the others of your house ridicule the advisors enough, and no Commander would leave his patrol to go politicking in another realm… Which is for the best, as they're generally so poor at it. I can't imagine you or the King trusting a mere advisor with something so important as keeping what ties we yet have to the Dell alive and no further weakened by time and space."

He nodded wearily. "Aye," he sighed. "And so your dear prince shall accompany us, though I don't doubt but he'd have worn Father down had it not already been declared he would join me on the next journey I made."

"He is not my anything," she said quietly, as they stopped at her door. She retrieved the key but nearly dropped it again.

He caught it deftly and used it quickly, passing it back after the door drifted closed behind him. He saw her to her chair, and then studied her color for a moment. "I shall see you tomorrow," he said shortly, inclining his head stiffly before leaving.

She was still trying to gather the energy to pack when a soft knock broke the quiet some hours later.

"My lady?" a gentle voice called. "May I enter?"

"Yes," Anumi agreed, recalling only then that the door was unlocked.

It opened to show a young servant, who curtseyed quickly. "The Prince asked me to check in on you and offer any assistance you may need," she said quietly.

Anumi managed a weary smile. "Thank you."


	7. Magnificent fury

**_Chapter 7: Magnificent fury_**

Anumi urged the horse she was riding forward, coming to pace beside Legolas and Brehurin. The creature was antsy, nervous, highly strung… at least until Legolas reached a hand out to touch him. At once the horse calmed, plodding along as single-mindedly as did the Prince's own. Legolas glanced over as Kirilan brought his horse up alongside Anumi once more, the position he'd held much of the trip thus far.

"Really, Anumi, you'll have to learn how to control a horse when you're in Imladris. There are many beautiful places just a short journey by horseback away, and no doubt you'll want to see all of them."

Her horse skittered sideways a step, knocking her unsteadily into Legolas and his mount.

He again reached out, a comforting hand resting upon the horse's sleek neck. "Kirilan," he said softly, patting the horse's neck. "This is not a good part of the wood in which to make excess noise, if it can be helped."

Anumi caught a glance from Brehurin's nearly black eyes, and realized with a blink that Legolas could offer a bald-faced lie to his only brother without even the faintest hint of emotion visible or audible to betray him.

Though she felt guilty for causing the lie, she was silently thankful for it, as it did as desired—shut Kirilan up so she could relax. Once finally relaxed, she began to notice the wood around her, and soon enough the horse beneath her was fully at ease, even far from the calming influence of the Prince who often rode him.

She understood riding his preferred horse—the horse responded to his voice and desires even if he was not the one upon his back… as long as his new rider didn't overcome the Prince's control. Her inexperience never left the question up for grabs. Still, it felt a little odd, riding his favorite horse. Yet, as he'd sworn her safety, she couldn't deny him any measure he asked of her to ensure it with a little more ease.

So when Brehurin fell back to ride behind her, motioning Pascail up to ride beside her, she tried not to tense, but the guard was not nearly as good at remaining apparently unaffected as Legolas was.

Legolas she could not begin to read. He sat upon his horse as ever he had, lax, easy… Brehurin was tense, and his horse reflected that tension with wide eyes and quivering nostrils, large grey ears flicking back and forth to sounds imagined—or missed by elven ears.

Kirilan looked between the two armed males, and slowly unsheathed the sword that always hung by his side.

Legolas glanced back, saw the move, but said nothing, his eyes dark—wary.

The attack, when it came, was swift, and to Kirilan, unexpected. He'd just about given up on it as a bad job—Brehurin must have heard something that disturbed him… a stray squirrel, perhaps…

But he saw Legolas react too quickly for that to have been true. Legolas was the one alerted, and not by a squirrel. Elven arrows raced around him, then in every other direction, both into the trees and into the darkness around them.

Soon he saw faint shapes in the darkness, made out what seemed thousands of eyes in the trees, hundreds more on the ground around them.

They'd been trapped against leaving by orcs, trapped when they could see the night beyond the trees, and the spiders had moved in, as well—orc or elf, they didn't care, as long as they got their meal. An elf might taste better, but orcs were easier to catch and then to keep. After all, no elf would leave another to a spider.

Cries and hisses both bashed angrily at his ears, even as something from above fell on him.

He was knocked from his horse, the spider's legs clutching around him. He couldn't swing his sword—couldn't even move it without risking one of his own limbs—but he could reach the arrow already imbedded within its flesh, and so he gave it a sharp wrench, finishing the job, making the convulsing hold on him loosen. He scrambled free, tightening his hold on his weapon, looking sharply around for the others.

Legolas… well, he was Legolas. He stood like an elven warrior prince aught, and he'd be no more worthy the title if he were clad in shining armor with an army of thousands behind him. His eyes flashed feral with the promise of impending death and the magnificent fury of battle. His face was blanked, though lips and jaw were held tightly.

Brehurin was wild in a different way than his commander, trying to remain alive and to do something as was his duty—protecting a prince, a civilian, a lady…

Pascail he didn't see, but that wasn't surprising. Healers often… vanished… in the heat of battle. After all, if they won and then died of their wounds, what difference did it really make?

Anumi…

His heart caught.

There was a spider trying to hold onto her horse, but the beast knew the creatures well, and was acting to save himself and his rider.

She, however, was not his normal rider, and did not stay upon his back in the move.

When the horse realized he'd thrown his rider, he snorted, laid his ears flat, and charged into the chaos of orc and spider, stomping upon those he could reach, kicking others, until he could stand over her, waiting patiently for her to rise.

As she was shakily getting up, using his solid though now blood-soaked body to support her efforts, an orc swung at her from behind, stilling Kirilan's breath in his throat.

The horse stood still, swatting his tail ineffectively, as powerless to do anything as he felt.

An arrow jutted through the orc's throat before the creature could finish the swing, the flat of the blade striking her side.

She let out a shocked noise and looked back, her eyes wide and fearful.

Kirilan tried to battle his way to her, absently saw her bend, picking something black up, holding herself up with fingers twined in a silver mane.

Though he couldn't reach her, neither could the orcs—every time one came within striking range, an arrow ended the effort.

"Anumi!"

She looked up, eyes dazed, and focused on the elf who had called to her.

"Begin walking to me."

Slowly, she took a step, then another, her support moving with her, though he stomped a bit harder than necessary upon the slain or dying orcs they moved through.

Once she was beside Legolas, Kirilan allowed himself to be fully distracted from her by the fight. Legolas was a great warrior, and Brehurin no slouch himself. Kirilan… well, he'd been trained well enough, though he was under no delusions about his skill. Already Brehurin and Legolas had thinned the numbers drastically with their bows, though they'd used so many arrows they were at the point where arrows could be used only cautiously, sparingly. It helped greatly that they'd spaced themselves in such a way they could occasionally retrieve each other's arrows during momentary lulls to reuse. It wasn't a perfect solution, as their arrows were naturally made for their own bows, but they compensated for the difference with troubling ease.

The spiders had left the battle proper, though they watched from the trees, moving down thick threads strong enough for ropes when an orc fell along the battle's edge, hauling it up, carrying it away.

Scavengers.

Bile rose in his throat, even as he brought his sword about and swore to himself and any of the Valar who might be listening to his thoughts that he would learn better mastery of the bow—good enough to make carrying one worthwhile, as his current skill with the weapon denied.

They all moved closer to the forest's edge, knowing that their only true advantage even there would be to see their enemy, and avoid the spiders.

By the time they were almost out in the open, the spiders were no longer in sight—feasting on their spoils, perhaps, and too pleased with their catch to trouble over a few more.

It seemed for a long moment they would escape nearly unscathed—the night was bright enough that perhaps they would not be followed.

But even as he thought that, his eyes fell on Anumi's pale face and darkened eyes. Legolas's blades were shifted so he could pick her up, and he'd nearly set her upon the patient horse when two orcish archers entered the battle with a fresh load of orcs. Perhaps twenty new enemies, and two quivers of arrows which quickly rained upon the tiring elves.

Kirilan saw two arrows strike Anumi almost simultaneously, followed swiftly by two hitting Legolas. The horse was hit, and let out a scream of pain the elves had not. He shifted, trembling, but remained standing where he was, even as his burden and master rested against him.

Legolas straightened, let out a rasping command, and watched the horse bolt unsteadily forward, even as a third arrow hit the elf he carried.

Then Legolas turned, and Kirilan was quite glad he'd been born an elf. He'd have fled in terror to see that face set against him. There was no sign of pain, though Kirilan could see blood, could see the head of an arrow protruding through the front of Legolas's tunic.

Legolas lifted his bow, readying one of his last two arrows, and didn't waver even as another arrow struck him.

Kirilan saw Brehurin fall, an arrow in his chest and far too close to his heart for him to rise again in this battle, and attempted to make his own way forward, to help his brother. The effort was more to soothe his own mind than in any thought of that violent and furious creature _needing_ his help.

But a searing, unbearable pain stabbed into his back, wrenching a cry from him as his feet failed him, dropping him to his knees. Every breath was torment, every slight shift of muscle an agony.

Black eyes watched without emotion, releasing the arrow, reaching for the other before the first met its target.

Kirilan wondered why he hadn't been killed, why the orcs swarmed past him, surging instead for the one elf left standing.

The final arrow left the string, the bow discarded the instant it had, twin blades unsheathed as sword and long knife had been discarded in the instant the arrows still imbedded in his back had met flesh.

Again, Kirilan was aware he could never take Legolas's place in the Wood, and not for the first time he whispered an inaudible prayer than he would never be needed to do so.

The pain of whatever wound he'd received had dropped him in his tracks, held him still there, even as his beloved elder brother swung his blades, moved his body as if the arrows within it were merely a normal extension of his elven flesh.

Even as dark royal blood arched out the same rhythm as the filigreed blades danced, Kirilan heard a hollow crack oddly close to his ears, and then knew no more.


	8. Blood running down the arrows

**_Chapter 8: Blood running down the arrows_**

Legolas rested a bloody hand wearily upon the horse's blood-frothed nose, a faint smile telling the creature he'd done well. He gently disentangled the wounded elf from the horse's collapsed position and drew her carefully away, setting her down so the arrows she still bore would not be pressing against the ground. He returned to draw his blade along the faint, weakening pulse in the once-proud white neck.

He closed his eyes briefly, then stumbled over to a rock, leaning against it, allowing himself to feel his own pain without distractions, knowing his body would soon betray him even if he tried to ignore it longer.

Immediately his teeth clenched so hard against sound that he could hear the grinding over the hiss of indrawn breath. He worked desperately to force his body to relax as all it wanted to do was tense harder, trying to escape the pain that the tensing was only making worse.

Slowly he let out a breath, looking down at himself, taking stock of his wounds.

He'd live.

Not that he hadn't already assumed as much.

But seeing the head and first hand's span of an arrow coming out of his side was a bit troubling.

Mentally snorting at his own thoughts he carefully touched the arrow, ignoring the pain again, shutting off that part as best as he could… though with the fury of battle seeping from his blood, he could never again shut it off entirely.

Still, the mental technique helped, allowing him to pull the arrow forward far enough to break off the head without jerking the shaft painfully… well, _too_ painfully.

The other arrow in his back caught him unawares as he tried to reach back to pull the arrow out, making him hiss between clenched teeth.

He closed his eyes, gathering his strength, then ripped the arrow out, a noise leaving him despite his efforts.

The other arrow had struck bone, halting only just far enough in for the head to be fully buried. Were it in a more accessible spot, he could have cut down to it to make the removal a bit less painful and easier to heal.

As it wasn't…

He grit his teeth again and yanked, looking at the bits of his own flesh left around the hooked end of the arrowhead in disgust before tossing it away.

Those were the worst. The one in his upper arm was hard only because he couldn't hold it and break it at the same time—the shaft was too thick to break easily one-handed, so he braced himself and thus the arrow against the rock, a loud snarl escaping him as the pain from snapping the arrow and pushing it out made him wonder if it would have been easier to simply cut it out, though it would have taken longer to heal.

Now with a sore back but one he could move without quite such stabbing pain, and two more or less useful arms, the arrow through his thigh was nothing.

As he tossed the last arrow to the bloody heap he'd started, an elf stumbled out of the woods, his arms laden with herbs.

"How are… how are you?" Pascail looked from the prone elves to the sitting prince, and promptly switched his question half-way through it, seeing how very bloody the prince was, not nearly enough of it black to ease the healer any.

"Better than the rest. One of the orc's had poisoned arrows… For some reason—either bad aim or perhaps luck—he missed me. Shot my horse," Legolas added on a soft grumble, looking with shadows in his eyes back at the unmoving horse.

Pascail nodded, already looking Kirilan over, using a small knife to quickly and gently work the arrow from his back.

Legolas ripped off the sleeve of his shirt with his good arm, using his teeth to anchor his efforts to further tear it into strips, two soon wrapped tightly around his bleeding thigh, the other around his upper arm.

His back and side would have to wait.

He got up, annoyed with his own body for its weakness when the world dimmed a bit and he moved unsteadily for the first few steps. He'd lost a lot of blood, it seemed.

"My prince, perhaps—"

"I won't bleed to death," Legolas snapped, his humor hardly improved by knowing how badly things were going for the others. "Tend to them, or you'll have only one patient in a few hours." He took some of the herbs, the supplies from the healer's bag, and moved after a slight hesitation to Anumi. He picked up the blade he'd used to cut his horse's throat and used it again, shredding her bodice open and to the arrows, cursing under his breath to find that while only one would have been serious by itself—only as serious as the one in his side, which had missed everything important—two of them were poisoned. The discoloration radiating out from the wounds mocked him, even as he worked blankly, drawing out the arrows, using those herbs that wouldn't later react badly with those to cleanse her blood and body of the poison.

"How is she?"

"Poisoned," Legolas sighed, getting up, wavering again, cursing again—the only good reason to have learned a dwarven tongue was so few elves knew it that they could only guess what he was saying—stumbling over to Brehurin, doing what he could to make Pascail's work faster when he was done with Anumi's major wounds.

Legolas almost went to Kirilan, thinking to deal with the minor wounds his brother had—small cuts, a single spider bite—but the world was getting a little hazy, and he was beginning to feel faintly ill.

He remained where he was, and waved Pascail off impatiently until the healer moved back from Brehurin.

"Well?" he asked.

"The antidote should have been administered in time."

"In time for what?"

"For the poison to have merely slowed the healing of any healthy elf."

Legolas looked up sharply, though his eyes refused to focus properly on Pascail. "And an unhealthy one?"

Pascail sighed, and moved forward, unlacing Legolas's tunic, easing it off so he could look at the wounds. He flinched, and fetched more herbs.

"Pascail?" Legolas growled.

"Only time will decide, Prince Legolas. She was already weak, and has lost a lot of blood. Two poisoned arrows, even with the antidote given in decent time… could probably have knocked even you off your feet."

Legolas's lips thinned, his mind racing though a bit off-kilter, thoughts sometimes wandering off before he could reign them back in.

Finally the herbs began taking effect, clearing both eyes and mind, numbing the pain but still affecting him enough that he couldn't gather himself to ignore what pain was left.

By then Pascail had found every wound on him and bandaged even those that the Legolas of a mere thirty years wouldn't have bothered with treating. The healer had moved to do the same to Kirilan, leaving Legolas to—if he'd been so inclined—sit in the sun nearly dressed the same as when he was born, though bandaged well enough few could complain for modesty.

Feeling awkward and hating it, Legolas made his way to the pack ponies, who'd fled the battle and waited just beyond the forest. He withdrew his own clothing and led the animals closer to the 'camp', habitually noting the bags that had been ripped or lost. They'd be hard pressed to eat only what was left, especially as they would not be leaving—or at least, not going far—for a few days.

He took a bit of the waybread for himself, handing more to Pascail before sitting down with his back to the rock he'd chosen as his. After all, it had his blood on it. "How are they?"

Pascail looked up, saw the cleared eyes, and inclined his head. "Brehurin is the best off. He will no doubt wake before noon. The poisoned arrow that felled him was the worst injury he had—a few minor cuts, several scraps, abrasions and bruises, and a rash on his leg where a spider tried to bite him but only managed to drool on him before, I assume, he killed it."

Legolas nodded, indicating for him to continue rather than speculate.

"Kirilan… Was cut fairly often, but the arrow that stopped him was the worst, unsurprisingly. It came very close to his heart, and ripped a few things I'd rather not have had ripped. The poison traveled quickly, no doubt paralyzing him for the time he was yet conscious. There is also a troubling blow to his head, though I don't know how that happened."

"An orc hit him with his shield as he passed," Legolas answered softly. "Do you know when he will wake?"

Pascail grimaced. "I don't know that he _will_ awaken. His will is strong, but it was a bad set of injuries, even without the poison." The healer watched a flash of a lighter blue cross the prince's eyes. That color change was a dramatic one, and but rarely seen—he'd seen it two times before in his time as unofficial royal healer, but in the King's eyes, not the Prince's. It had happened when he'd warned the King the Queen would probably not make it through the night, even if she woke…

And he'd seen it again centuries later when he'd said nearly the same thing, but in reference to the elf now sitting across from him, worrying for his brother.

Legolas let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. "And the Lady?"

Pascail spread his hands helplessly. "I've done what I can, and I'll continue changing the herbs and offering what strength I can. But her will was already weak, and even your oddly strong recuperating abilities may not have withstood the assault upon her."

Legolas smiled grimly, but said nothing—he was often told he shouldn't have survived something, and it had ceased to worry him. So he healed better than most. Who was he to complain?

He settled in to wait, navy eyes flickering from guard to prince to healer to lady.

When he felt a bit more gathered, he rose, moving to sit just before the three unconscious elves, as Pascail had long since rearranged them so he could easily reach any one at any time, should they show signs of distress.

He frowned almost at once. "I thought you said noon?"

Pascail looked up from checking Anumi's eyes, and his brows rose in surprise. "So I expected."

Brehurin blinked again, seeing the healer. He started to bolt up, only to grimace, easing back down to the ground with a soft groan. "The Prince—"

"I'm well, Brehurin. You did well."

Brehurin let out a small noise. "And the others?"

"We don't yet know," Legolas admitted, shifting his weight so Brehurin could see him.

"Then how well could I have done?" Brehurin asked bitterly.

Legolas smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Brehurin. We'll have you back to your elf with but a few more weeks and a fading scar to show for it."

He grimaced again, his dark eyes changing to pitch. "She's probably been worried sick," he grumbled.

Legolas stiffened, cursed under his breath, and then paused while he forced himself to relax and stop aggravating his own wounds. "You started the process?" he growled when he'd managed to ease his tensed muscles just enough.

Brehurin flushed. "It… wasn't exactly planned… and it was mere hours before we were to leave—too short a time for anyone else to have gone."

"Someone else would have, had I known," Legolas countered testily, eyes narrowed in fury.

"I'm sorry, my prince, but I didn't expect it would become an issue."

"You know the rules—any bound elf is not to undertake anything more than routine matters save in the most dire of need. I could name fifty elves I could have brought along, besides you, and a dozen could have been ready in a half hour if so commanded. Your position among the guard is released, Brehurin."

Brehurin closed his eyes, pained more by that statement than by his wounds.

"Perhaps… when you are healed, you could be of some use on the training fields."

Brehurin took a sharp, hopeful breath. "It would be an honor to be of service, my prince," he stated.

Legolas sighed, and shook his head. "It was foolish, Brehurin… but save your energy to heal, and to console her. Rest."

"The others… how bad are they?"

"Poisoned, as you, but injured far more."

"The Lady? She was already faint…"

"We don't know, Brehurin. What can be done shall be, do not doubt that."

"I know—I know you would do more for them than nearly anyone else would…" Brehurin closed his eyes, and slowly his body was still once more, his breathing evening out.

Legolas exhaled sharply, then grimaced, resting a hand against his side.

"You've loosened the bandage?"

"So it seems," Legolas agreed, lifting the shirt when Pascail moved forward determinedly. "How do they fare?" he asked quietly.

"I think Kirilan shall make it… though he seems to waver with every hour."

"And the Lady?"

Pascail shook his head. "She does fight to live, yet, but she is still very weak… I know haste was chosen to remove her from the mountain for good reasons, but if she'd grown stronger there first…"

"She wasn't going to grow much stronger, if any," Legolas said softly. "She'd chosen to die."

Pascail blinked. "Then I am amazed she has lasted this long."

"She changed her mind, I think," Legolas admitted, easing himself back against a pack. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on his own body, trying to direct his healing strength to the worst of the wounds, ignoring the rest.

He jolted out of the internalization when a familiar voice cursed softly.

Navy eyes snapped to see Kirilan panting, teeth clenched tightly.

"Relax your torso, brother—the pain will not be as intense."

"It… _hurts_."

"Of course it does," Legolas retorted sharply. "You've been _shot_. But _relax_ or it will only continue to hurt more with every breath, every beat of your heart."

With a soft whimper, Kirilan slowly relaxed a little, before collapsing, taking slow, measured breaths. "How, by the Valar, could you keep fighting?"

Legolas quirked a brow. "You were still somewhat aware?"

"The last I remember was seeing your blood running down the arrows in your back… arrows you didn't seem to notice, though I was frozen by the one in mine."

"Yours was poisoned, mine were not."

"Poisoned!" Kirilan tried to sit upright, but froze, let out a sharp keening noise, and fell back, breathing harshly instead.

"Stop it! You're barely with us, don't exert yourself! The arrow was too damaging, Kirilan, there was a good chance you would not survive it. Don't rip whatever is left keeping your heart beating."

Kirilan stilled. "I…"

"Yes, little brother. Perhaps now you realize why it never bothered me to awaken in the healing rooms?"

"Because you did awaken," Kirilan grumbled softly. "Anumi… were her arrows poisoned? I don't think they struck her _too_ badly…"

"They were poisoned."

Kirilan groaned. "Is she dead, then?"

"Not yet."

"Dying?"

"We don't—"

"Yes."

Legolas stopped, turning sharply to stare at Pascail, who was sitting beside Anumi. "You said she was still fighting."

"She was. She isn't, any longer. Her body has given up, and I'm hardly surprised, Prince Legolas. As I said, such injuries with a body already so gravely weakened…" He shrugged.

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "You are far too calm for such a declaration."

Pascail took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself further.

"You think there is a way to keep her alive, or you would not speak so simply, knowing how vested we are in seeing her to Imladris alive."

Slowly, the healer nodded. "I have done all I can, and actually, more than I should have. I've weakened myself while attempting to strengthen her. She will die… unless she were to use the healing strength of another."

"More than yours?" Kirilan asked. "But you're the only one of us really _trained_ to do that. We might be able to do a little, merely by wishing to, but not much, and certainly not enough."

"No, the instinctive healing would not be enough, on its own, not for something this large."

Legolas's eyes widened, before he closed them tightly.

Pascail saw the realization, and felt far older than his years.

"Then what could we possibly do that would allow her to use our healing strength?"

The healer looked at the younger prince. "If she were bound to another, she would use his strength."

"How long does she have before it must be done?" the elder asked, eyes still closed.

"No more than two hours… preferably, no more than one."

Legolas nodded, his eyes that bleak shade so rarely seen as he got up, walking painfully out into the grassland.

"I'll do it," Kirilan offered at once, again attempting to sit up, again failing in light of the intense pain. "Where'd—Legolas? Where are you? I'll do it!"

Pascail sighed, shaking his head.


	9. Grey skin and black blood

For everyone who panicked when they found I hadn't updated: I'm sorry, but I needed that vacation... though I do wish I'd had internet access and someone else to drive. Fourteen straight hours in the car today on less than four of sleep, so I only glanced back over this--I blame any errors on sheer exhaustion.

* * *

**_Chapter 9: Grey skin and black blood_**

Anumi opened her eyes, aware only that she ached, and she knew no reason either for her to ache, or to sleep with her eyes closed.

Then she saw trees instead of walls, and grasses in patches over bare earth, instead of rugs over bare stone.

The pillow beneath her cheek turned to a roll of cloth, the warming blanket a thin traveling one. A fire burned sedately not far away, ready to either die entirely or be fed for later use.

Kirilan was seated near it, on a half-decayed log, hands clasped together under his chin, staring out at the world with unseeing eyes.

She started to rise, but the aches grew to sharp pains, and she quickly halted the attempt, reversing it slowly, forcing herself to relax so the pain would ease more quickly.

"It's about time you woke," Kirilan mused, blinking a bit, as if he'd been thinking far too deeply for a long while. "Pascail had hoped you would wake this morning," he continued, studying her with a look she'd not seen on him before.

It was a measuring, disconcerting look she'd seen often enough—on his _brother_, not him.

"What…"

"Just think for a little while. It'll come back." He smiled faintly, unconvincingly.

She frowned. What would come back? She remembered leaving the mountain, remembered almost wishing she hadn't been an elf so they would actually _stop_ on the journey rather than plodding endlessly on…

Her breath rushed in at a discombobulated memory flash of grey skin and black blood, of endless eyes lit neither by stars nor the wisdom of centuries. "The—are all well?"

Kirilan's gaze was still so intense, and so focused solely upon her. "You were the worst off, Anumi. But Pascail has held out hope, this last day, for your safe return to us."

She stared off again, recalling… recalling the chaos, but nothing specific, until a voice called to her, making her move across the battle, making her seek her own safety in the confusion. She remembered the horse given her, remembered praising him in her mind if not with breath with every shaky step she took, every stumble of hers that he moved into so she was still held upright. She remembered blades and arrows, and then hands—strong and hasty hands lifting her quickly, surely… before pain, and numbing darkness. "What happened?"

"It looked like we were about to win, but two archers and a small band arrived to help the orcs… one of the archers had poisoned arrows. Five of his arrows hit their marks—and you bore two."

At his words, she remembered fighting the numbing darkness, trying to reach to the faint elven voice calling for her to return to the light…

Just as she remembered a sudden, terrifying moment of clarity, knowing she was going to die.

"How did I survive it, then?"

"The antidote, as much as there is one, was given quickly enough."

"Prince Kirilan," she protested, slowly dragging her eyes to his. "Even negating the poison, I was shot three times, and wounded several others, despite the best efforts of the warriors protecting me. I was also still weak… I should not have survived."

"But you have."

"I should _not_ have. How did I?"

"Is it so terrible, to be here?"

She closed her eyes, trying to down the irritation as he continued to avoid answering her question. "No, Prince Kirilan, it is not. I am glad to be here, but I would like to know how it is possible." She carefully eased herself up into a sitting position, relieved to find a rock to slump against. "And while you explain that," she added, "explain how I feel more alive than I did when wounded."

Those watchful eyes closed, a pained look flittering over his features briefly. "You were going to die, Anumi. There was one way to save you… it was taken."

"What was taken?"

"One had to bind himself to you, to loan you his healing strength. Else you would not be here."

For a long moment, she stared blankly at him. She was tempted to doubt her senses, but there was nothing to cloud them at the moment. There was no wind, the fire was relatively quiet, and Kirilan was between it and her besides. She looked at her hands, at the bandage wrapped around the right, and took an unsteady breath. "You should have let me die," she declared on a whisper, her throat too tight for anything else.

"Hey," Kirilan protested softly, leaning forward a bit, his clasped hands unfolding and reaching towards her before falling down to his side. "My brother's not that bad," he rasped, voice coming through a thickened throat.

She blinked in shock.

"So," he went on, now without looking at her, "you're now my sister."

"And Princess of Mirkwood," a new voice declared. Kirilan started, looking sharply up at—

At the elf she'd _felt_ behind her, _felt_ approaching.

"As you're a bit sturdier on your feet, Kirilan, do leave us for a time," Legolas said softly, waiting until Kirilan eased upright and wandered off to sit before her. Navy eyes studied her intently, before he half-smiled. "Pascail has long been bound, Brehurin—_idiot_—started the process the night of our departure… and Kirilan nearly died, himself, of his wounds. He volunteered quite vocally, but it would have killed both you, and him, to drain what barely held him to the rest of the living."

Slowly, she nodded. She looked at her hand, then at his, seeing the stark bandage echoed there, though his looked like it had gotten damp, somehow. Looking down made her realize she was not dressed in her own clothes. She held the shirt slightly away from her body, looking up at him.

"Male clothing, should any other wish to attack," he offered quietly.

"Fine. But whose?"

He half-smiled. "Brehurin's leggings, one of my shirts."

She nodded, studying intently the spattering of dirt on her bare ankle.

"So now the question is… on to Imladris, or simply turn about?"

"On to Imladris, obviously," she retorted, accepting a simple train of thought, as the rest seemed entirely too much to think about.

"Oh?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"Mm. Pascail would no doubt like to see his children, Kirilan still needs to learn the path, and you did swear to see me there safely… though I rather think you took the oath far too seriously—that is how the kin-slayings came about, you know."

The slight playfulness he'd showed vanished. "I know," he agreed softly. "As you know you shan't stay there, though we shall head on as planned, if delayed by a week or more."

"I know. You could not stay there."

"No," he agreed after a moment. He looked at her again. "No screaming profanities, no cursing, slurs upon my parentage?"

She might have laughed, if it wasn't all so serious. "I don't see where I've come out at much of a disadvantage here, Prince Legolas."

He quirked a brow. "While I do intend to hear that reasoning, Anumi… Legolas. My wife need not use my title in addressing me."

She closed her eyes, and drew a deep breath, holding onto the numbing calm that was trying so desperately to slip away. "It may take a while."

"Understood."

She nodded. "As for the advantages for me, surely you could list them all? I shall return home, return to the only family I have, return to the children I love… and being bound to you shall keep me well, even if I never step out of the mountain again. You, however… you've lost your position in the army. And you can't…" she trailed off, realizing that while she would never consider taking a lover… she didn't have the same assurance from him. He _could_, if he wished, even though they were bound…

"I shan't," he agreed softly, before shrugging. "It has been centuries since I've known any of Mirkwood, anyway. And considering their fawning will have to cease, I'm not entirely…"

She quirked a brow. "So… we can live with this?"

He sighed, tilting his head forward, a bit of hair sliding down to brush his cheek.

With a frown, she reached up, wincing at a slightly sharper than expected pain when she attempted to touch the shortened bit.

He caught her hand, slowly easing it back down.

Panic flared in her breast, echoed an instant later in his eyes before he shook his head, frowning at her.

"How deeply did you bind us?" she hissed, realizing then that all the aches she felt were not her own, that he felt not only her physical pain, but her emotions.

"Deeply enough I would not make myself a husband and a widower in the same day," he hissed back, before shaking his head again, rocking back onto his heels, releasing her.

She studied him, and slowly calmed her anger, watching it fade from his eyes. "Why do I not feel your emotions?"

"I'd imagine for the same reason _I_ don't."

"What?" she frowned.

He offered her a crooked, rueful smile. "I… was not handling it well. The binding is very strong, Anumi, and very compelling. Every breath was telling me my mate was hurt, was gravely wounded, and there was nothing more I could do. I paced, I growled, I brooded… and I irritated Pascail so badly he claimed authority over me as still a patient under his care and forced a hideous tasting tea down my throat."

She laughed when she understood. "The calming draught," she mused, enjoying the sparkle of her humor in his eyes.

"Hmm," he agreed. "He's insisted I drink more roughly every six hours, so I'll be due in about one or so—which is when dinner should be ready."

She felt nauseous at the thought.

He grimaced, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Try not to think about it," he pleaded softly.

She offered him a weak smile in apology, then looked at the woods.

"Anumi," he called softly, making her eyes focus and fall to rest upon him. He shook his head. "You've only just returned from Mandos' stoop. Thinking about everything this means can, and _shall,_" he added more sternly, "wait until later. We're going to Imladris, after all—we shall have a few weeks at least to ease into this."

"We're already 'into this', Prin… Legolas."

He inclined his head slightly. "True. But we may take the draught as needed, though the first days are supposed to be the most volatile—that is, under normal circumstances." He grimaced at the flash of misgivings she couldn't hold back. "Anumi," he coaxed softly, "rest."

"But…"

"You are tired, dreadfully so," he countered, chidingly. "I can feel it as well as you can feel that my attempt to bathe has opened the stitches that were intending to hold the wound on my thigh closed. So, you rest, and I shall find Pascail, all right?" He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek before his hand slid down to support her neck, his other arm shifting to help her lie down, as well.

Now knowing her wounds a bit better, and which were actually not hers at all, she reached up, touching that bit of hair she'd aimed for before.

"Oh," he mused, looking a little bit self-conscious. "Well, it is fitting, isn't it? No longer a warrior prince."

The cut lock of a new husband, cut from the same hair that usually was braided into the declarative braids of a warrior, when that warrior was on duty. Of course, many wore them all the time. Legolas didn't… but then, no one ever forgot what he was.

"Yes you are," she countered, though sleepily, her eyelids feeling oddly heavy, hinting that even with his healing and her own, she needed more time. "You'll always be a warrior… even if now only in dire need."

A gentle hand touched her cheek, and that was the last she was aware of.

Legolas looked at her for a long while, before moving to his feet, taking up the rock he'd claimed before as his own. He'd moved her close to it so he could watch her, but now he gazed at the fire.

"How did she take the news?"

Legolas shook his head slightly. "She was too exhausted to properly react, Kirilan. It hasn't fully sunk in." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling utterly exhausted, himself. A yawn surprised him, and made Kirilan blink. Legolas snorted. "Besides," he added, half-grumbling, half-ruefully amused, "right now, it's mostly all coming from her, to me, not the other way around."

"You are healing her, Legolas. Even with her wounds she claimed to feel more alive than before."

Legolas nodded. "I know… I've felt that. She did choose to live, and so her recovery shall be faster than if she just _happened_ to survive."

"Combined with your bizarre healing…"

Legolas rolled his eyes at Kirilan's grumbling, and slowly found himself a fairly flat spot on the ground. "When Pascail returns, would you ask him to check the stitches on my thigh? I'm pretty sure I've managed to rip some, and perhaps over-tighten a few others…" he yawned again, his eyes slowly drifting almost completely closed in a doze, his hands crossed over his chest for a long moment, until he restlessly tossed one out, true, deep sleep coming in the instant it landed.

Kirilan eyed the unintended contact made by that uncustomary movement. His elder brother's hand now rested on the skin of Anumi's leg, just above her ankle, but still uncovered by the dark leggings she wore.

Her breathing had slowed, evening, when the hand landed.


	10. Duty before heart

**_Chapter 10: Duty before heart_**

Anumi was filled with a deep and terrible feeling that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, she wasn't _safe._ It was so overwhelming that she struck out blindly before even taking a moment to blink, to clear her eyes of rest.

Encountering the body that held hers, she struck, again and again until the arms loosened with a curse that was repeated as she felt herself falling.

Her eyes wouldn't obey her; the world stayed black even as she landed roughly on her side. But she got to her feet quickly despite the pain, retreating from whatever had been holding her so tightly.

"I warned you it was a bad idea," a voice said from a fair distance.

Still, she eased back from that voice, as well.

"But, Pascail—"

"Enough," a voice said from just beside her. Skin touched her neck, her jaw, and the tension leaked away, replaced by the soothing calm of being where she should be. The fingers trailed up to her cheek, then slid under what soon felt as a gentle constriction about her head, covering her eyes.

When her vision was uncovered and cleared with a few blinks, she saw a hurt and upset Kirilan pouting, holding his jaw. She didn't need to turn to know who stood beside her holding the cloth that had kept her blind. Not only could she see the rest… but she'd felt his approach, and been calmed by it.

"Now that you're awake," he drawled, "you may choose with whom you ride."

She felt satisfaction, and glared at him for it. "As I yet feel I could sleep a seeming age, it is perhaps best for me to travel with _you_," she lowered her voice. "As you bloody well know!"

A brow lifted slightly. "Very well," he agreed, ignoring the rest entirely. He mounted his horse quickly, offering her a hand, which she only grudgingly took. "Is everyone ready to press on?" he asked, ignoring her once she was seated behind him.

She narrowed her eyes on the back of his neck, before abruptly coming to her decision, sliding off the horse again.

"Anumi, what are you—"

"The rest of you go on ahead," she called over his protests. "We'll catch up. I'd like to walk a while," she added a little more quietly. It wasn't a lie… but neither was it the whole truth.

Legolas remained mounted for a short while, before dismounting with a sigh, letting his horse wander. "Would you rather I had not allowed Kirilan to hold you?"

She closed her eyes. "You allowed it because you knew I would fight any embrace save your own when I woke. You wanted me to strike out at him… why use me to hurt your brother?"

He continued to move, but the background hum of his emotions in the distant reaches of her mind were quieted for a long moment. Then, a curl of regret, but followed swiftly by a defiant determination. "It… was perhaps not done selflessly, but with the best of intentions."

"How could that possibly be?"

He hesitated, before inclining his head slightly. "You are not blind, Anumi. You have seen his regard for you, though you've done your best to ignore it in hopes it would go away. In time, it will. But there is no chance for him to be with you now, Anumi, and I thought it better he understand that quickly, rather than have it drawn out."

"He already understands. He called me his sister."

"Yes, the mind knows. But the heart? That is more difficult, and more stubborn. He needed to see the bond between us."

"No doubt he's seen plenty—after all, you've been stuck with an unconscious wife for the majority of the past…" she trailed off, not actually knowing what day it was.

"Week and a half," he finished for her. "It's Tuesday."

She inclined her head in a short nod. "So why wasn't watching you enough? If Pascail would sedate you, I know you felt it keenly."

"Yes," he agreed absently, "but he only saw it affect _me_. For all that I hold myself enigmatic, one does not easily know you. In a way, your deception is crueler than my own, for I do but rarely express emotions I do not feel."

"Our situations are somewhat different. The people accept a stoic prince. Such a mask born by a lady would label her cold and heartless."

"Do I not bear those epithets?"

"No, not among the masses, at least. Perhaps those you are cold and heartless to consider you such, and rightly so."

"Maybe," he allowed, looking up at a bird that passed them.

"We're off the subject."

"We were never actually on it, were we?" he asked, looking directly at her.

She studied those navy eyes, and felt him somewhere inside of her, almost like an echo of herself. She could feel the placement of his every limb, felt his feet touch the ground if she focused hard enough, and she felt the gentle shift of the emotions all carry at all times. Thankfully he was not too tumultuous, though she imagined that when at rest, she would feel quieter to him than he felt to her. "No," she agreed softly. "We need to discuss this, as we have not."

"You've but barely been awake. Now that you are well enough…"

"And now that you've had some time to consider, whilst I have not?" She held up a hand to forestall his protest. "Legolas," she paused, momentarily pleased at her lack of hesitation in dropping his title.

He smiled slightly, an amused glance nearly missed.

She unbent enough to smile, as well. "We need to decide and declare how we shall handle this."

"What options do we have? We either accept it and continue on, or we fade. I do not intend to fade, so I would rather you not consider that path. In a few centuries do so if you must, but for my sake, please give me that time to find my balance once more."

"It seems you've already decided," she stated, feeling something cold wrap her insides.

He grimaced, bringing a hand to his chest, rubbing lightly. "Decided what? Whatever it is, I seem to be considering it far more lightly than you."

She looked away, studied the south. "Far more lightly, indeed," she agreed, the anger she had tried to keep banked flaring up.

He stopped walking.

She paused, but didn't turn.

"Care to explain?" he asked shortly when she remained silent.

"You intend nothing to come of this. To continue as you have always been, save a few minor changes in routine—someone on your arm at events, and no patrolling with the troops. I expect you planned on giving me the room Herita used during your sister's absence?"

He rounded her, pulling her chin up to see her eyes, frowning for a moment when they told him no more than her emotions did. "Why shouldn't you have a room of your own?" he asked softly.

"Beside the point, Legolas. I am in no mood to dance."

He let out a breath and began walking again. The horses were already out of sight, and they didn't need to lag behind forever. "Very well," he agreed. "It was a diversion. I apologize. I shall try to face the issue, though it goes somewhat against my nature to confront those I do not wish to anger."

"If you do not wish to anger me, then consider me when you plan my future!"

"I had no choice—I swore I would see you safely to Imladris!"

The vehement anger, the poison, in those words made her halt in her steps beside him. She closed her eyes as she felt him trying to calm his anger, the bitterness. "I'm sorry," she whispered, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, trying to still the ache. "You have had more time to dwell upon this."

"It was not your choice, either," he said wearily, the last of the negative emotions leaving him, save a faint lingering residue that upset her.

"No, but I was not thinking of it. What's done is done, and I have no intention to dwell upon it. You did what you felt you must, and nothing I can do will change what was done." She swallowed tightly and continued walking, feeling his restless desire for movement.

"Then what else have I done to anger you, if not binding you to an elf you do not love?"

"I no more love him than he loves me," she countered softly.

"Duty before heart."

"Foolishness," she scoffed.

She felt something well up in him, but it was something too overwhelmingly unfamiliar for her to understand. His eyes were dark when she looked at him, dark and… sad. "Fact," he said so quietly had there been any wind it might have kept her from hearing him.

"And now it is my own selfishness to berate," she sighed. "I am thinking of the future, and you have not yet dealt with yesterday."

He quirked a brow. "What is that to mean?"

"It means exactly what I said. You haven't gotten over binding yourself to me. It has festered a bitterness within you that is being directed at me, though I would have chosen death to a binding neither wanted, if given the choice. You do not see that you had a choice—very well, for argument's sake, you had no choice. You had to bind yourself to me. Now. You may either hate me for the rest of my life, which that hatred shall drastically shorten, or you can accept that it happened, and can't be changed. You can stop _thinking_ about it and start _feeling_ it."

"I've _felt_ little else."

"In a way," she sighed, "that was my point."

He looked at her for a brief moment, before frowning swiftly. "I feel mentally sluggish since we began talking," he sighed after a moment.

She half-smiled. "We have not truly talked before."

They walked in silence a small while. "Perhaps not," he agreed, looking up to scan the horizon for the others. "What were you meaning to bring up for discussion, originally?"

"Does it matter? Nothing can be done until you accept this."

"I shall, but I have a few loose ends to tie up before I can truly attempt to settle in to being a husband."

She tilted her head, but didn't bother to remind him he already _was_, and had been for eleven days. Finally she nodded. "Alright. Then I wished to discuss… us."

"Hasn't it all been about us?"

"No, not really. It was more about each of us, but not us."

He blinked.

She smiled faintly, a curl of his lips accepting her humor at his blank response. "Us, as in you and me, together. Something that wasn't yesterday, and shan't be tomorrow, nor any day until you're ready to accept that you have a wife… and that I am your wife."

"Allow me to be somewhat deliberately dense. In what manner do you mean?"

"The manner in which you angered me by utterly denying me."

He shook his head slightly. "For the sake of tempers all around, explain that."

She took a deep breath, and rubbed her hands over her arms before letting them fall to her sides. "Once you've accepted this, there are many paths that could be taken. We could entirely ignore each other, save what the bond forces upon us. We'd be strangers in the same quarters, side by side, alone. It seems that is what you desire."

With a frown, he glanced at her. "It would be easiest."

"Yes, easiest," she agreed, drawing out the word. "You are not known for doing what is easy, though I suppose I rather am."

"Because you would fade, rather than fight?"

"Because I would have preferred to fade away than break my father's heart by following mother." She shook her head when he looked at her. "Another time, perhaps. If we chose this path, we wouldn't know each other any more than we do today, save the daily routine, and perhaps a few stories offered up by relatives."

"The other paths?"

"Another equally foolish, in my opinion—to welcome the bond with open arms and jump in as if we've been lovers for centuries, rather than passing acquaintances for some three months. The bond would overcome any hesitation in touch, any reservations held for unfamiliarity…"

"For a time, at least. Until our analytical minds resumed gnawing at the binding."

"Hmm," she agreed softly. "There are, of course, paths between any option, but the best seems between the two I've mentioned. I _am_ your wife, Legolas, and you are my husband. Saying that does not mean I wish to work on the royal succession."

He stopped walking.

"You hadn't considered that, either? What _did_ you consider?"

He drew a deep breath, before looking at her solemnly. "How much you must surely hate me for forcing you into this, no matter what you've said about it."

She quirked a brow. "Well, now you've felt how I do, or don't, feel about it."

"Have I? I've felt practically nothing from you, save a precise anger."

A small smile quirked her lips. "Precise anger?" she echoed mockingly.

He glared half-heartedly for the tease. "Your anger is directed precisely. What else should I call it?"

"Well-directed?" she offered, before laughing softly. She waved a hand. "Go on."

"With what?" he asked, annoyed. "I was merely pointing out that you feel little—some quirks of amusement, annoyance, and anger. Sorrow, perhaps. But either you feel nothing about this binding or you've discovered what most either never do or don't use—how to keep your bonded from feeling your emotions."

She remained silent.

"What?" he sighed.

She glanced at him. "You're ignoring an important factor in our binding, Legolas."

"Which would be?"

She felt his weariness, and for a moment felt a flicker of concern, wondering how much rest he'd been allowed while she was unconscious. "This is a strong binding. Unless all older than we have lied about bonds, ours is unusually strong, considering the circumstances."

He cocked his head to the side, and she felt a bit of curiosity. "How so?"

She felt an uprising of annoyance, and he stilled, looking at her, lifting a hand.

"I am not trying to upset you. I… well, I did not hear gossip about bindings as I grew up, nor were they discussed by my parents. My reading habits didn't allow for such, any more than my time with Commanders and advisors."

"You'll have heard something—no elf of age hasn't."

"True. But refresh my memory or educate me. Please."

The final word overcame her hesitance, but only after a moment of teetering on the edge of dismissal. She let out a breath, then nodded. "Fine. Most binding occurs between two who believe themselves well matched, who love each other enough to plan on being together for the rest of their lives. The bond between them is generally, after the sharing—however the sharing is done—little enough. Of course, they already cared about each other so we might as well discard any such instincts when considering this, as they would not be noticed. Still… I can feel the strap of your quiver lying over your hair, not pulling, but not free, either. It isn't pain, it's just… you. I've not heard of feeling the other in such a way before they've been together years beyond easy count and generally had children."

"And I can feel the grasses brushing your bare ankles, the cool moisture of the earth beneath your feet," he said quietly. "Could it be merely that by pushing so much of myself into you to ensure you would survive the night that I somehow… created centuries of a bond in a matter of hours?"

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "And however it happened, it doesn't so much matter, does it? It makes us far more aware of each other than most who have long been wed, or long been lovers. It forces an intimacy between us that isn't there…"

"Isn't it?"

"No, not really." She closed her eyes. "If the bond was inexplicably gone tomorrow, neither would be changed for it having been there."

After a moment, he rubbed at an ache in his chest. "Perhaps you wouldn't be. I've discovered a few things about myself I hadn't expected."

She blinked, then lifted an enquiring brow.

He shook his head with a sharp exhalation. "I've seen Kirilan injured, I lost my mother. Yet when it was my wife injured, possibly to be lost, I was… unhinged. The bond may force care… but I have never cared so, before."

"You have, you do. You merely know that, and respond differently. You did not expect to care for me, did not want to, so it unbalanced you. That is all."

"That is enough."

She shrugged.

They continued on, silent, his horse wandering ahead to graze, trotting after them or beyond them from time to time. Finally, as the sun began to set in the west, he sighed. "What would you have of me, then? What is your desired third path?"

She considered her words for a time. "You are my husband, Legolas. I, your wife. To me such titles come with certain obligations, which your position in the wood make more important. One, we've already agreed upon—fidelity."

He nodded.

"The other… loyalty. To know that you could tell me anything, and I would keep it. That I could tell you the story of my father's troubled eyes, and know that he would never know you knew. To trust each other enough to refrain from attempting to keep the other from feeling the emotions, from knowing reactions."

After a silence, he looked at her, waiting until she met his gaze. He quirked a brow. "Is that all?" he asked dryly.

She smiled faintly. "It is a lot," she agreed.

"Trusting a stranger."

"Trusting your wife," she countered. "Letting her know you, knowing her in turn."

He stared before them, and then inclined his head. "You wish a true binding, then. It will not be… easy."

She smiled. "Easy?"

He matched her smile, but looked quickly away. "You no doubt realize that I…"

"Trust no one? Even your father, though he the most, I think."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "The Commanders, the advisors… to trust them so would be to lose what command I have, and what respect."

"Agreed," she said, encouraging him to continue his thoughts though she might have argued a little.

"Odrune is caught up in her own family, and understandably so. It does not leave room or time for confidences she would not like to know—I am her elder brother, and she likes knowing I'm infallible."

"She knows you're fallible, Legolas."

"Yes… but _believes_ otherwise. The head and the heart are not so connected in those of my bloodline as some would believe."

"You're rather forced to have a disassociation, aren't you? Duty over heart," she echoed.

He grimaced, but inclined his head sharply. "Yes. Kirilan knows I am fallible, but he believes he could never do what I do. He holds himself apart from the world in a way, studying it without ever really _seeing_ it."

"Mm," she agreed, "ever astute and dense at once."

A small smile touched his lips. "Yes. Obviously I can't choose some random servant or peasant to confide in—not the serious confidences, at any rate. A lord or lady would be even more disastrous, though I have a few… allies, if not friends, among both those of titles and those without, though those without are typically involved with the army, in some fashion or another."

"And your father? What reason to keep him from the dark reaches of heart and mind?"

"Merely that he is my father. There will come a day when I have lived longer than he did without me in his life. Even then, I will be his son, and he my father. Some things do not survive that distinction, cannot be easily shared."

"Lovers?" she offered, only to pause and gape as color flared into his ears while a flood of embarrassment so intense it colored her own ears washed through her. She laughed brightly. "Lovers? Is that all you don't speak of with him?"

"And… certain… related topics," he admitted, looking edgily away.

She laughed again, then wound her hand down his arm until her fingers closed around his. "I'm laughing at how terribly embarrassed you are, you know. I'd not speak of my lovers with my father."

"What of your mother, were she here?"

She closed her eyes, considering that. "I don't know. About them, probably. About intimate things—almost certainly not. I would talk to Ninith and Cirida or maybe even Nana about that."

He quirked a brow. "Would you?"

She smiled slightly. "Yes. I shan't talk about you, save maybe to Nana. She's a terrible gossip but she knows when to hold her tongue, and confidences never escape her." She released his hand and moved slightly away. "That is assuming, of course, that I ever have anything to talk about."

Legolas looked at his hand, marveling at how bereft he felt of a tiny touch, merely because it had been known, but now was lost. "Anumi… I cannot say I will love you. I may never love you as your husband aught. But… I think it would be _easiest_," he paused for her small smile to lift something within him, "should we at least work on being friends. More may come in time, but friends shall be difficult enough, for two such as we."

"Do you really suppose so? After all, we hide behind masks to hold the world away—you as the prince, I because I have long expected to die and didn't wish to leave mourners behind, save those that couldn't be helped. With each other, we are bare. Already we are conforming to it for our own comfort. Neither have been as sharp tongued as before."

"It is… rather frightening," he admitted, inclining his head so his hair covered his eyes from her sight in the waning light.

"Yes," she agreed, "it is." She held out her hand as they saw a flicker of fire on the distant horizon.

He hesitated only a moment, and then took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "I'll apologize now—I shall hurt you."

She smiled faintly. "I know. I'm sure whatever 'loose ends' you have shall cut me dearly."

A flicker of foreboding tingled up her arm from their joined hands. "Yes," he agreed, very softly.

As they walked into the camp the others had made for the night, she wondered at the jumble of emotions she felt from him, predominately sorrow, regret, and bitterness, along with a wistful longing that lingered long beyond the others.

She saw Kirilan's eyes pause on their linked hands, while the other two either didn't notice or pretended well that they did not.


	11. An impact so visceral

_** Chapter 11: An impact so visceral**_

Legolas had timed their arrival to the valley of Imladris so that they were there just as the sun was beginning to head west for the evening. The afternoon shadows were still short, but the mid-day meal was over. The valley was fairly quiet, at least, until Legolas looked up, smiling faintly.

With a sigh, two elves dropped onto the path, startling one of the ponies into stumbling backwards. "Hello, Legolas," one said, sounding more put-out than they appeared at being found.

Anumi looked at the two elves, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The one standing before her husband looked just like the one soothing the pony… right down to the disappointed glint in otherwise mischievous grey eyes.

Those grey eyes sharpened suddenly on her. "Hey, now!" he exclaimed, moving forward, offering her a hand to dismount. "Find another stray, did you?" he asked Legolas.

Legolas shook his head briefly.

"Stray?" Anumi and Kirilan asked.

The other elf who had been with the pony came up, chuckling. "Let's see… his first trip, it was a wounded sparrow hawk."

"Oh, yes. Nasty fellow, he was."

"She," Legolas protested mildly, joining them on the ground. He smiled absently as another elf appeared, leading the horses away. He nodded at Pascail's curious look.

The healer quickly departed.

Legolas waved Brehurin off as well, to do as he liked.

"And then there was the… what was it? A mole?"

"Badger," Legolas sighed.

"Why didn't you just eat that thing?" the first grumbled.

"I had waybread. Besides, it was very young."

"And ferocious," the second muttered.

"Elladan, Elrohir," Legolas introduced them, though it didn't stop them at all.

"And the owl."

"Now _she_ wasn't too bad. Except for the little furry pellets she kept leaving behind… in our rooms."

Anumi found herself smiling.

"Mm, true. What was next? Was it the wild pony?"

"No, that came after the day old fawn. Now _that_ was cute," Elladan admitted.

"Sickeningly," Elrohir agreed. "And you didn't eat that one because?"

"Waybread," Legolas repeated, but he was smiling. "Some human killed its mother."

"Hmm. So, then the pony—Eru, but that thing did have an affinity for cloth."

"Yeah," Elrohir mocked, "the cloth of your trousers!"

Elladan grimaced. "And there was the falcon—best one, started our falconry… through the beast's eggs."

"And the bear cub," Elrohir recalled, smiling as Legolas rolled his eyes. "Not the worst, that little fellow… although, he did have a temper when grown. Not, of course, that you were here for that…"

"Anymore than he was when that girl he brought grew up."

"No." Elrohir's eyes darkened slightly. "We received word of her."

"Dead, I'd imagine," Legolas offered softly, into the silence.

"Nearly twenty years, now."

He nodded.

"What came after her? It was so minor compared to all others…"

Elrohir frowned. "It _was_ such a small thing, and no real trouble…"

"But what _was_ it?"

"Oh, the sparrow!" Elrohir shook his head. "Arwen latched onto that thing the moment he unwrapped it, fed it every day."

"Yes… though she wanted nothing to do with his _last_ stray."

Legolas's grin was suddenly wicked.

"And you couldn't just… leave it?"

"But I know how much you _love_ tending strays," Legolas protested, wide-eyed. "And it had been three messages without one."

Elladan shuddered. "I far prefer this particular one. An elven lady of even the most stubborn vitriol is highly preferable to a warg… even a small one."

"A _warg?_" Kirilan asked, staring at the stranger standing in his brother's skin.

"Just a small one," Legolas protested, eyes still wide and bright.

Anumi laughed, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I'm no stray," she said at length, still trying to pick out some slight difference between the two so she could tell them apart when they were no longer in the clothing they now wore. Red for Elrohir was all fine and good, until neither wore red. "At least, not one for you to take care of."

"No?" Elladan asked, quirking a brow. "Come to live in the valley, or just a stop while heading west?"

"Neither… though initially I was to stay here until my father heads west."

"Plans were changed on the road," Legolas said softly. "She'll be returning with us, when we leave."

"And how long until the threat of strays is no longer hanging over our heads?"

Legolas shrugged. "I can't say—as I haven't decided. This is likely my last trip, so I shall dally some."

"Last trip?" Elladan asked, stopping to look at him. "Then who will bring us strays?"

"Kirilan might."

Elrohir looked at the younger. "You're Kirilan?"

Kirilan nodded.

The twins sighed, shaking their heads in a remarkable display of synchronicity. "It won't be the same."

"No," Legolas agreed. "But the wood needs me, and will not easily let me go."

"Perhaps we'll just prince-knap you from time to time."

"You wouldn't be able to."

Elladan half-smiled. "Not without your consent," he admitted. "So who is this enchanting lady you've brought only to steal her away again?"

"Anumi," he said softly. "Perhaps you'd be willing to split up as tour guides? Kirilan should see what I know, Anumi need see only the more beautiful places. Or perhaps it would be best to put off the tour, and allow rest before the evening meal?" he asked, looking sternly at Anumi.

She sighed softly but inclined her head, accepting Elladan's offered arm as he bowed. He pompously—and mockingly—described the virtue of many portraits, several tapestries, and no small number of sculptures as he showed her along the paths she 'had to know' before she could rest. He introduced her absently to many—many who were clothed as lords or ladies, but who were merely called by their first name, with one notable exception—Lord Glorfindel.

"Hello, Glorf," Elladan called when the elf turned onto their path from a side hall ahead of them, moving swiftly down the corridor in the same direction they were wandering. Elladan was smiling crookedly, no doubt guessing what would soon happen.

The stately elf so called turned his head sharply, lifting a brow with an elegant annoyance that made Anumi bite her lip. "What have you done _now_, Elladan?" he growled in exasperation, turning with deliberate slowness.

"Nothing, nothing," he held up his free hand in a placating gesture that didn't exactly work.

"Then what are you _planning_ to do?" the golden elf countered, pacing slowly closer, his dark ropes flaring out, eyes narrowed on the almost arrogantly mischievous ones before him.

Her husband may have been one of the best looking elves in Mirkwood… but this elf would certainly give him a run for her money…

Especially as his bright eyes narrowed farther, searching Elladan swiftly for some sign he'd clearly seen too often before. Then, with a snort, he turned to her. "Glorfindel, if you ever wish me to respond politely," he said shortly, offering his hand.

"Anumi," she countered, smiling slightly as he kissed her knuckles.

"You've arrived here recently? From…" he frowned slightly, before rolling his eyes. "Mirkwood. Only they would try to disguise their females as males."

She laughed lightly at the disgust gently lacing his tone—he said it mockingly, lest she take offense. "Actually, most of my clothing was destroyed in an attack. What little survived I've left for slightly more formal occasions, once here."

He gave her a pleased smile, and inclined his head. "Stick close to Elladan for a while, Anumi—it would be nice for him to pick up some intellect somewhere…" The smile shifted slightly, curiously, before he nodded once and turned, continuing his path.

"Hey!" Elladan pouted for a few minutes, before turning, studying her eyes for a long moment. Then he suddenly shed several centuries, pulling her along and acting utterly as if he were no more than three hundred. Four tops.

She had to chuckle at his antics, and bid him farewell almost fondly when he left her in a guest room after being sure she was able to find the dining hall and the library without getting hopelessly lost first.

She yawned, and shook her head in bemusement, knowing Legolas had felt her weariness… or maybe he simply figured out she that was tired because she kept falling asleep on him as they rode. For some reason, her sleep had been troubled last night. Some reason… that she couldn't define, but the longer she'd spent trying to analyze her unease, the more certain she became that it wasn't her own apprehension she was responding to.

Legolas's eyes hadn't been glassy in sleep, though Brehurin was the one who was supposed to be standing watch.

Any way she looked at it, the bed looked quite comfortable and inviting, so she rooted through the one bag of her things that had survived the ponies' frightened escape to the meadow. She found a loose gown and had it over her head when something struck her, hard, with an impact so visceral she was almost surprised it wasn't actually _physical_.

She jerked the material down and pressed a hand to her agonized middle, trying to reason out what she'd felt. It felt… very wrong. As wrong as when she'd awakened in Kirilan's grasp, rather than…

She took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed, another jab making her gasp, made her fingers press more tightly. The pain of it was almost overwhelming, but she had long had practice at this sort of thing—she shut off her emotions, welled them down deep, deeper down than the jabbing influx of betraying emotions.

She blinked sluggishly, teetering for a moment between uncertainty and utter denial. She didn't want to dissect the feelings too closely. That she was feeling them at all was more than too much.

Faint awareness was all that remained, until that, too, slipped away, leaving her buffeted in emotions that were not hers, and so, ones that she could not even begin to control.


	12. Less than perfectly pleasant

Yay! Computer, meet internet, internet, meet computer! (In other words, sorry, but my internet connection has been shot since evening Saturday. Just got back up! And hopefully will stay up long enough to post this).

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 12: Less than perfectly pleasant_**

Kirilan frowned at the intimate table he was led to by Elrohir. There were only settings for seven elves, at a table that could only comfortably hold eight.

"We always welcome Legolas," Elrohir answered the frown. "We often eat here, apart, actually, as many families do."

"Families?"

"Mm-hmm. Father's the only other one here right now, Arwen is in Lothlorien. Glorfindel always joins us, of course, as he's no family here and we annoy him just like any good nephews aught."

Kirilan shook his head, trying to clear it. "You don't use titles, here?"

"Not generally. Most call father 'Lord', and the same for Glorfindel, but they're the main ones. On occasion, especially when ceremony is called for, titles are brought out." Elrohir stretched, then yawned. He pointed absently at the places, naming them off. "And the other three however you plan to sit. Legolas usually sits at the place by the far end, next to Elladan, across from me."

"Then I suppose I should sit closest to Lord Elrond," Kirilan admitted, exhaling slowly.

Elrohir looked at him sharply. "So he has brought another stray, but chosen to keep this one?"

Kirilan grimaced. "Eh," he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's… complicated."

"No, I _don't_ think they're amusing!"

"But Elladan, really if you train them properly—"

"I am _never_ visiting Mirkwood! Crazy wood-elves," Elladan stomped in grumbling, face twisted in comic fury. He scowled as soon as he saw the room's occupants. "You didn't steer Anumi here?" he asked his brother, his theatrical display quickly lost in light of his missing audience.

"She wasn't in the dining hall," Elrohir shrugged.

"Odd. I told her what time dinner was."

"She's probably lost."

Elladan's scowl returned. "I made sure she could find her way."

"Perhaps she's still resting?" Kirilan asked.

The twins started to respond, when they realized he was looking at Legolas for his response.

Legolas blinked, then lifted a hand to his chest. "I… don't… know." The words were spoken in a soft, sort of shocked tone that again silenced the two who had opened their mouths to make inquiries—quickly, and loudly, if possible.

"How can you not?" Kirilan asked, voice dropping as his eyes narrowed at the odd look on his brother's face. It was a face he didn't much care for—it had hints of confusion and guilt, along with a very faint panic.

"I don't feel her," Legolas breathed, the panic now starting to make his eyes lighten oddly. He took a shaky breath, then closed his eyes, pressing the hand more tightly. "Nothing," he whispered. "Just…" he turned quickly, darting between the twins, racing down the corridor beyond.

"Legolas, what—"

Not even Kirilan bothered to reply to the nearly knocked over Lord Elrond's question, instead racing after his brother with the twins.

Legolas let out a growl when he came to a wall.

"Through the library's the shortest—" Elladan sighed as Legolas took off halfway through his statement. "Not that I know how he knows where she is, anyway," he grumbled, panting a bit as they followed Legolas again. "Blasted wood-elves," he called loudly.

When the normal reply—blasted slow half-elves!—didn't come back, Elladan and Elrohir spared a quick look at each other, before their curiosity turned to certainty. Something was _seriously wrong_.

Grumbles and groans silenced, they hastened their feet just as Legolas found the proper door, actually running into it when it didn't open for him.

"She probably locked it," Elladan explained.

Legolas swore softly. Kirilan, as usual, couldn't make any of it out, but the twins both flinched. "Anumi!" he yelled, hitting the door with his fists hard enough to rattle it. It was a very solid door—Kirilan almost felt the bones in his arms ache at the very _thought_ of the strength needed to shake it… and the pain that would no doubt result.

Legolas, of course, was indifferent to it.

"Is there another way in?" Kirilan asked swiftly when Legolas seemed stunned to panicky silence after the lack of response from within. He'd gotten inured to seeing this side of his brother as Anumi lay unresponsive. His shoulders were tense, yet not straight—slightly hunched, as if preparing for or recovering from a blow, his breathing not quite calm or steady.

"Yes. The next room shares a dressing chamber. It's unoccupied, so unless she locked that door as well—"

Elladan had taken off well before Elrohir explained. A moment later, Kirilan strained his ears. A muffled 'Valar!' sounded, before the door was wrenched open. "What's wrong with her?" he snarled, blocking the door solidly…

For about half a second, before Legolas went through him, kneeling an instant later before Anumi.

Kirilan swallowed hard upon seeing her. "Eru," he whispered, "not again," he pleaded.

"Again?" Elrohir asked, studying her objectively, as the other three could not. "She's nearly faded before?"

"Yes… not too long ago."

"I'll get Father," he said, leaving quickly.

Elladan was asking questions of the princes, but neither replied.

Legolas touched her cheek gently, frowning when there was no response.

"Legolas, I'll—"

"You can do nothing, Lord Elrond," Legolas said quietly, not bothering to turn to face the lord. "She is not fading."

"But you didn't feel her."

"I still don't," he admitted to Kirilan's sharp statement. "But she is not fading."

"I'd like to look at her."

Legolas tensed for a moment, before moving slightly aside, allowing Elrond a chance to _look_ at her.

Elrond looked at him for a long, sharp moment, and then at her, studying her eyes, but he soon nodded with a slight frown. "She isn't fading."

"Then what's wrong with her?" Elladan asked.

"She's put herself into a sort of healing sleep."

"Why?"

"The reason doesn't much matter," Legolas said softly. "Not to the lot of you, at any rate. Leave us."

"Now hold on, Legolas, I—"

"Elladan. Go."

Elladan looked at his father. "But—"

"He is best able to tend to her, Elladan."

"Why should he be any better than you or I?" he asked, looking at the pale tracks on her cheeks bitterly.

"Because neither you nor I are bound to her."

_"What?"_ the twins exclaimed together. They looked at the two at the bed in shock. "But… neither said anything."

"It is new," Elrond explained quietly. "Either right before or during the trip here, I'd guess."

"Yes," Kirilan said softly, trying to control the faint bitterness in his voice even as he stepped out of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"But… how'd you know?"

"It's a Mirkwood tradition to…" the rest went unheard as the door closed behind the last of the Imladris Lords, leaving Legolas to again stroke her cheek.

He exhaled slowly, then rose and stepped out of his boots, laying aside his belt and sword as well. He slid behind her, and then stretched out, pulling her along until she lay beside him. He moved backwards, and stripped off his tunic, loosening the ties on his undershirt before rolling her closer, so she was now facing him. He pulled her hair back from her face, lifted it while tucking a pillow under her head, splaying it out to his satisfaction when that simple task was done.

He brushed at the tracks her tears had made in the light covering of dust from their travels on her cheeks, tracing from her eyes to lips and chin. They'd long dried.

He swallowed tightly, but couldn't bring himself to apologize. Someday he'd resign himself to being bound to her. He'd thought he'd done it before he bound them, but she was right—he hadn't. But even then, he wouldn't apologize.

It was enough that he felt so damned guilty.

Guilty—then, and now.

He closed his eyes and moved them so they were flush, and shifted her left hand under his shirt so it was on the skin of his side—her gown had long sleeves, so the only way he could touch her skin would be fairly indecent or might indicate he'd fallen asleep while trying to choke her, neither of which would be wise thoughts to allow her…

When she finally tried to leave her self-created cocoon.

Until then, all he could do was what he was doing—remain close enough to reassure her, amplifying that reassurance by every bit of skin contact he could manage.

Which right at that moment, was merely her hand on his side.

He hoped it would be enough, even as he bent his head slightly, nose against her crown, and allowed his eyes to close. He of all often did sleep with his eyes open—but he was not sleeping alone, and he _despised_ being awakened by getting something in his eyes… especially hair.

He stirred from less than perfectly pleasant memories when the body against his shuddered violently. He opened his eyes and found the room in darkness, the light glimmering on eyes he could barely see, and tears he wished he couldn't.

"I'm sorry."

He found himself tightening his hold on her. "Why are you sorry?"

"I… I never even considered… that you were giving up so much. So I'm sorry. Sorry I wasn't able to see, sorry you gave up so very, very much… and sorry that I'm too selfish to tell you not to."

"Self-preservation is rarely under 'too selfish'."

"But it is still selfish."

"Perhaps," he half-shrugged. "In light of this oddly complete yet lacking conversation… I will not lie and say I'm sorry for whatever you felt this afternoon."

"I wouldn't expect you to be sorry for it, and I'd rather you didn't lie," she whispered, her breath warm against his throat. She'd withdrawn her hand from his side upon waking, leaving the skin feeling too cool. Her hands were now tucked up beneath her chin.

He sighed, knowing the withdrawal for what it was. "And I'd rather you didn't pull away because of it," he said softly, reaching up to cover her hands, drawing one back down to his side, though he didn't put it back under his shirt. "Friends, mates—what I had, is now gone."

"You cannot say you do not—"

"Can't I? I _cared_, yes… not as much as perhaps I should have."

"You… ­_cared_ plenty. Else it would not have felt as if my heart were being squeezed." She sighed softly, and pulled her hand back, moving to lie on her other side.

She didn't move away when he moved up to lie against her back, nor did she protest the arm he slipped around her waist. They both needed the contact. The bond had been stressed, troubled, and only this could soothe it so it stopped disturbing them both.

"I did not care enough. Else I would have done something long ago. This will fade."

"Will it?"

"It always does," he agreed softly. "Between every message. If it hadn't faded, even once, I'd have done something."

"You knew it was bound to end, yet let it go on long enough to be of importance merely for the time it lasted?"

With a sigh, he moved so his nose was in her hair, his lips at her nape. "It was better than anything I was offered in the Wood," he countered softly. "No title, no mask…"

"No chance to survive the change, had you wished it."

"No," he admitted after a long pause. "Which is perhaps why I never considered it, nor encouraged such thoughts."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "Or maybe that's why it appealed to you."

He was searching for a reply to that—but not successfully—when he felt her… disappear. All of her emotions faded out from the back of his mind, just as they had sometime earlier, though he hadn't noticed in his own upheaval until Kirilan asked after her. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice low.

"Preparing to have some rest," she answered, her voice blank.

Uneasily, he said nothing, and merely thought about things as objectively as he could while she slept.


	13. Malicious games and calculated indif

**_Chapter 13: Malicious games and calculated indifference. _**

The delightful conversation they'd been having drew to a close as he leaned against the railing of a small shaded area that overlooked a lovely bit of one of the many gardens scattered about the valley.

He offered her a vague smile when she stepped beside him, though she merely rested her hands on the rail he leant his forearms against. "I've heard I rather insulted you upon your arrival… Princess."

She frowned, tilting her head as she studied him. His pose set their eyes on the same level, but he looked out before them. "You did not, my Lord," she finally answered.

He looked at her then. "Didn't I?"

She shook her head.

"How could I not have?" he asked softly, a faint bitterness touching his voice.

She rested her hand on his arm—he straightened, catching her hand when it would have fallen, twining their fingers before letting them rest on the rail. "You know only that he and I are bound, don't you?"

"What else do I need to know?"

She smiled faintly, shrugged, tightening her fingers around his before withdrawing, stepping down to wander in the verdant land around them. "Nothing, I suppose."

He paced with her, at her side quickly, yet not in haste. They had come to a slightly more secluded area before he spoke. "Then what would you have me know?"

"I? What _could_ I have you know?"

"If I knew, I would have no need to ask."

She shook her head with a sigh. "You are right—it doesn't really matter." A bit of cold mockery turned her lips, posing as a smile.

He nodded, and purposefully led her deeper into the woods around the valley, guiding her down paths rarely taken. "I must confess the news rather stunned me."

"Me as well," she muttered under her breath.

He quirked a brow, but continued before his silence might have compelled her to explain. "After all, I hardly imagine you and the prince well suited."

"Are we not?" she asked, her tones mocking.

"No… not as I now see you, at any rate."

She looked at him sharply, offering a small, but more genuine smile. "You are not seeing me at my best. I'm rather bitter and cold-hearted today. Waiting for unpleasantness has never been one of my strong points."

"I hope I am no part of the unpleasantness."

"Oh, no," she assured him airily. "Actually, you're merely a source of bitterness."

He grimaced. "A statement that shall bring me comfort unto the ends of the world, Princess."

She sighed and took his hand. "I am not blind, nor slow. I have had others look at me as you did upon our meeting… as you do, even now."

He looked sharply away. "You see it, and yet you are here, walking with me in a deserted part of the valley. Don't you care what your husband must surely think, should he learn of this excursion?"

"Not really."

His eyes snapped to her, and he withdrew a step. "You speak too lightly of such a sacred bond."

"Do I? Neither he nor I wanted it… _want_ it," she amended. "Yet we have no reason to worry—we've promised fidelity, and I know now how achingly the bond will strike should one attempt to skirt it. He will not worry, though the bond may provoke jealousy within him—jealousy he will cast aside, knowing logically that it doesn't matter to him."

He took a deep breath. "How did you come by this, then? Arranged marriages are surely only practiced among humans." He said the last as a statement, but she knew the question behind it.

"I don't know, but it certainly was not arranged. The King would no doubt like his sons to bind and produce more grandchildren for him, but Odrune is doing fairly well on that score by herself. And yet… in a way, it is _my_ father's doing."

He almost asked, but stopped himself, continuing on.

She moved with him, arms now crossed almost tightly over her chest. "He asked Legolas to see me safely here. Legolas gave him an oath—though my father didn't ask him to, actually." She frowned faintly and shook her head.

"How does one lead to the other?"

"An oath to a bond?" she asked, smiling a bitter smile. "We were attacked. There was a quiver of poisoned arrows. Kirilan took one, Brehurin one. Legolas was shot four times but not poisoned, I was shot thrice and poisoned twice."

_"What?" _the horror, the shock in his voice made her pause.

That small smile, again. "The antidote was quickly administered, but I was yet weakened by the cause for my initial removal to the valley, and at least one wound was serious even without the poison. Pascail never offered much hope for my survival, though he wasn't certain for some time that I would eventually die. When he was, he suggested the only option left that would allow me to reach the valley alive."

"Using another's healing," he said quietly. "The others were too wounded?"

"Kirilan was," she agreed. "Brehurin and Pascail out by virtue of already being bonded—though Brehurin's is not yet complete, it is far enough." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "And Legolas is the one who gave an oath…"

He muttered a few oaths himself, under his breath.

A slightly amused smile turned her lips, and he hated the cynicism of it.

"And then you met his lady here, and the feelings that perhaps you could survive this vanished?"

"No," she shook her head. "Then _he_ met his lady here, and I realized her existence as I felt his emotions for the meeting—everything he would normally feel at such a time combined with everything the bond forced him to feel, and his feelings at those feelings atop all the rest."

He grimaced. "A riot of mixed emotions."

"Yes… a _painful_ one. The bond shrieked in agony at what was seen as his betrayal, even though it was his goodbye."

"Was it?"

She smiled again. "Yes. His word, and all."

He exhaled sharply and turned their path again, seeking out his peaceful spots almost instinctively. "So you are bound to an elf you do not love, who loves another?"

"He claims he does not love her. At least, not deeply enough for him to consider it love worthy of the title."

"Do you believe him?"

After a moment, during which she seemed to abstractly study the patterns of leaves and shadows above them, she nodded. "Yes. He leaves her too easily."

"With that riot?"

"Yes," she agreed softly. "Most of it was the bond, and his chafing at feeling things he felt he should not have." At his look, she elaborated. "He… he knows he is now my husband, and he knows, logically, what it means. But the bond… he is not resigned to in the least. He…"

He stilled at the distaste suddenly apparent in her eyes.

"He _uses_ it… uses me," she added on a whisper, "to his own ends. I've known since first I met him he was capable of manipulating things to his advantage, but I'd not thought that would extend to his wife… though I suppose I should have." She laughed mirthlessly. "And I can no longer gain the upper hand over him. Before this trip… oh," she sighed, a cynical, wistful smile now touching her features, "I fought him beautifully," she stated dreamily. "I forced him around, boxed him into corners and played on his one weakness—his family. Of course, I still feel utterly justified, as it was concerning the safety of his niece and his own health that I did so." She shook her head swiftly and continued walking in the general direction they'd been taking. "Now, the bond pulls too strongly. He may inflict hurt upon hurt, but it seems I am incapable of doing the same. Not that doing otherwise would be anything of which to boast."

"No," he agreed softly, wearily.

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

It was his turn to offer a smile he didn't feel. "I am glad to be of some small service… and if sharing the burden of a breaking heart helps heal it in some small way, I am more than happy to always be of service."

"By allowing your own to be wounded?" she asked, her voice a bit shaken. She shook her head, turning aside as her eyes overflowed.

"Yes. But you hide your own pain even from him, don't you?"

She smiled again. He was starting to hate her smiles. "Why shouldn't I? He doesn't want me. Doesn't even _like_ me, because I held my own against him, and still try to do so. I… I know myself too well, I think. I cannot do anything to set him against me, even as he places himself there. So I shall endure wound after wound, until I finally fade away, and all because I would wish to be at peace with him… and silent subservience seems the only way to get even a small measure of it." She pinned him a direct, honest, and heartbreaking gaze. "At least he shall never torment me by… _wanting_ me. I do not think I could endure that."

He blinked, then tilted his head to the side. "Most think the other way—they would be tormented if their bonded did not want them."

"Most love their bonded," she replied softly. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not have my firsts than have them with one who would have me only because I'm the only one he's allowed."

"Firsts?" he rasped, looking at her with the same intensity he had when they'd met.

"Yes," she agreed, again looking away, off to the path that was slowly winding them back to the inhabitations.

"Never had a lover?"

She laughed scornfully. "Never had a serious suitor of any sort. A few with a sort of childish affection that they'd confused for something more… and I discouraged all. Some subtly, some bluntly, but all left looking elsewhere."

"You've not done so with me," he observed quietly.

She came to a stop, and exhaled sharply. "That's rather the point, isn't it? The reason you are a source of bitterness. Coming here, I would have revived. The shade over my life in Mirkwood would have been lifted, though more slowly than Legolas's blood has allowed. Coming here, I would not have felt it necessary to discourage any looks of interest, because, here, I would not be forever fading for want of freedom. So once here, and once introduced to you, I might well have allowed that look. I might have allowed you to see my own interest."

"Is it so?" he asked, studying her still slightly damp eyes. Then she looked at him, and he swallowed, feeling a wave of helplessness overwhelm him. It _was_ so. "Then this is a hello and a goodbye," he stated quietly. "Friends alone, for I shall not be so selfless as to give you utterly up." He gave his fingers permission to trail through her hair as they'd been begging for the last hours.

She drew a shuddering breath, closing her eyes, holding herself perfectly still. A flicker of pain crossed her face, a single drop escaping her closed eyes before she tilted her head into his touch.

"If a taste is all we may have," he whispered, moving closer, "let us have it!"

Her eyes opened as he darted in, but soon fluttered shut as the sudden shock of the passionate kiss wore off. She slowly, tentatively, relaxed, to which he responded by pulling her closer. As his hands settled, one wrapped around her back and resting almost possessively on her hip, the other rose up her spine, encouraging her closer until the fingers slid into her hair once more, fisting at the back of her skull.

She rested her fingertips on his shoulder, his arm, and allowed herself this one moment. When he drew back, resting his forehead against hers, she forced all feelings aside, instead memorizing the feel of a warm, solid body pressed so tightly to her own, the cool feeling of air across her slightly abused lips. The tender possession bespoken in the placement of his left hand, the tender concern in the way his right now stroked her hair.

When she opened her eyes, he was waiting, watching, and he nodded slightly before slowly withdrawing, placing a gentle, _friendly_ kiss to her brow. The line they'd just crossed was now a solid, steep wall—and just as insurmountable.

"I am glad you have no regrets," he said so very quietly, as if afraid of shattering the moment.

The moment that had already _been_ shattered. "None," she agreed softly, managing a much more relaxed smile than she had all day. Somehow, in that kiss, he'd soothed much of her anger, her resentment, her bitterness towards her husband. "Save that my husband is even now marching furiously forth to lambaste whoever should so dare touch what is his."

He tilted his head curiously. "Your bond is strong."

"Yes," she sighed.

Neither moved from the gentle embrace until the movement of the fauna around them indicated the approach of another. Even then, they stepped but a pace apart, turning together to face the intrusion to their solitude.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" a female voice cried out, clearly exasperated. "I'm beginning to wonder why I bother."

She quirked a brow, he nodded to her silent question. "His… former companion," he explained softly.

She nodded. She looked back just as a black-eyed elf pushed through the last bit of thick foliage, stepping then into the large open space of the under-story of older woods, those eyes burning as he looked at them.

The elf behind him muttered as she carefully worked her long-skirted way through, as well, and she looked at them in annoyance. "Really, Legolas, you have not—"

"Anumi," Legolas said, his voice fairly quiet, but with a furious growl threading the words that she might not have heard, a few weeks past.

His companion's eyes narrowed, sweeping over her with a calculating look that quickly turned to spite at whatever she thought she saw. She looked at Legolas, then looked back at Anumi, lifting her chin defiantly. "He's not really yours. He doesn't love you."

"I'm well aware," Anumi stated calmly.

The other seemed rather taken aback, but didn't stop the words already starting to leave her tongue. "He's mine, you know."

"Is he?" Anumi asked, seeing something in her husband's eyes to dispute the claim, and feeling a faint disgust from him through their bond. "Then by all means, take him. Find a way to break the bond neither of us wished for, and _take him_."

The last two words came out a trifle nasty, and the other elf rather quailed under the spiteful venom held within them.

Anumi quirked her brow. "No?" she mocked. "Then leave him be. We are stuck with each other, he and I, and no fantasies shall change that."

Now the other was beginning to pout.

Anumi found herself rolling her eyes in disgust.

The object of her disdain stomped her foot furiously, hands clenched in the folds of her skirts. "Oh, you're just horrible! Utterly horrible!"

"Then I shall make him a good mate, shan't I?" Anumi asked, feeling cold and blank once more, as she had when she began wandering the gardens this morning.

The elf looked at her for a long, long moment, then back at her ex-lover, whose face was just as chilled and blanked. Something broke in her, something that made her eyes momentarily bleak before it straightened her spin and tilted her chin. "I suppose so," she stated frigidly, before turning sharply about.

Once she was gone, Anumi sighed, and glanced at her companion. He inclined his head slightly, so she offered him a small smile, before swiftly taking the path of her dismissed 'competition'.

"Anumi!"

She stilled, looking over her shoulder at her husband. "I am tired, mate, and I am going now." She said nothing else, and didn't give him time to reply.

Legolas turned with venomous anger upon the other left behind.

Before he could vent it, he was pinned harshly to a tree. The shock of the attack—and that he'd not expected it in the least—held his tongue still for a moment. Long enough for his attacker to speak in his silence.

"I have long known the face you show us is not the one you show the Wood you call your home. I never expected I could come to despise it so greatly." He dropped the prince, who staggered against the tree for an almost imperceptible moment before straightening. "She is your mate, your wife, Legolas. Already it seems obvious I love her more than do you—I, who have known her but a day, who have no hope beyond friendship, no hope but to help ease the heart you break by behaving so callously. Do you wish to kill her? You are well on the way, with your malicious games and calculated indifference." He headed off into the wood, intending to complete the path he'd started on while unsettled by the pain she was initially so hesitant to unburden.

"Glorfindel!"

He stopped at the call, but no more turned than she had. The prince behind him did not deserve that much attention.

"She is my wife."

"I am her friend. Even if you stop every falcon I could send from reaching her, that shall not change. I rather think she could use a friend. It seems those who should care for her merely lead her into situations that would bring her to fade." He too, left without giving a chance for rejoinder.


	14. Pretty words for a broken heart

Thanks to Niri and Wimsey for their help!

* * *

**__**

**_Chapter 14: Pretty words for a broken heart _**

Legolas let himself into her room without knocking. She didn't protest, though her eyes flicked to his before returning to the book she'd been reading.

He settled himself into a chair, dropping his weapons to his side. He tugged his boots off, and let them fall. She didn't stir, and he didn't speak.

He gazed alternately at her or out the windows, replaying all that had happened in the last weeks. Slowly, his eyes spent more time upon her, even after she finished her reading and set it aside, meeting his gaze.

He smiled faintly. "Still sure you don't hate me for forcing you into this binding?" he asked sardonically.

He still felt nothing from her, save the slight breeze of chilled air around her ankles, the firm press of indented leather under her fingers. The gentle warmth of the chair reflecting back her own bodily warmth. She merely looked at him for a long moment, her eyes as blanked as the emotions she wasn't sharing. "You make it easy for me to hate you… but not for the binding itself."

"No?" he asked. "Then what have I done? I was led to believe you understood my need to say goodbye."

"Say goodbye, by all means," she agreed, her eyes turning to the windows. "But do not hide that there are goodbyes to be made."

"As you didn't hide your… interlude with Glorfindel?"

"Why should I have done so? He and I both knew from the start nothing more than friendship could come of it… nothing more, but perhaps infinitely less."

"Nothing more than friendship?" he asked bitterly, dropping his gaze, focusing them on her bare feet. "It felt like I'd been turned into a target for arrows of a different sort of poison. One that doesn't pain so greatly it can immobilize before eventually turning one numb, but one that burns all the more sharply with every breath, every heartbeat. I felt his hand on your hip, his body against yours, his…"

"His lips on mine? His hand in my hair? As I felt your hands on her? Your fingers digging into her hip, the small of her back, moving up her spine? Do not lecture me on what you felt! You had only the bond to deal with, nothing I felt along with it. Have you any capacity to imagine how terrifyingly overwhelming that was? I not only felt everything you physically did—" she stopped and made a face, looking away, "but I felt every emotion you felt, as well. Your pleasure, your anger, your guilt, your joy, your impotence, your desires—I felt everything you normally would have felt meeting her, everything the bond made you feel, everything—all the resentment, the anger, the aggravated annoyance—you felt for feeling the bond's outrage at your actions. Can you really compare that to what you felt?"

His fingers fastened tightly around the chair's arms. "I admit it hurt you, Anumi. I already ­_have_ admitted it. We spoke of it, and you seemed fairly sympathetic to my feelings at the time. The next day, however, finds you being embraced by an elf you'd not before met. Was not fidelity agreed upon, or was I simply imagining that part?"

"As I was imagining we were to try and be friends?" she countered.

"You are the one who would so test the bond!"

"For Eru's sake, can't you understand for one moment?" she cried, getting to her feet, her calm shattered. "He and I might have been something, had I not arrived here bound to you. Even without that, he's the only one I've been able to allow even a slight interest in, all my life. It seems obvious enough that it is too hard for you to allow me any insight into you, any part of your life… is it so hard to believe I wanted to be kissed, just once? He was the only chance I had… to feel wanted." She dashed her hand over her eyes, turning her back to him, staring blindly out.

Legolas shook his head and snorted. "Which of us has it harder, Anumi? You've given up a death you've spent your life preparing for… or perhaps merely postponed it. When we return to Mirkwood, your position will be elevated. You may still do as you like, but now with all the wood to dance attendance to you."

"And you've given up your position in the guard, your unloved lover, and the hindrance of all those foolish little ladies who want to work on the royal succession."

"You've given up an elf you never had."

"And you've given up on having a wife you can trust."

He tipped his head back. "I've not given up on that, though you're making it very hard to try to trust you."

"Why? Because I'm not perfect, and I wanted to feel _something_?"

"Because you would swear fidelity one day and fall into a stranger's arms the next!" he snapped, getting to his feet. "I warned you about my own loose ends—"

She laughed, low and cold. "You said you had them. Not that they had long golden hair and lips that know your weak spots."

"So it was because you were angry at me that you allowed Glorfindel to kiss you?"

"I was angry with you," she agreed, nodding once. "Because the longer I thought over what has happened since our binding, the more I feel I would have been better off dead. You may have reasoned everything out flawlessly, Prince Legolas, but you've forgotten I'm a living being with a heart that until recently was very sheltered. You've used me now, twice, to hurt those you care about." She clenched her hands into fists. "I've spent my life trying not to hurt others, yet I find myself being manipulated into it by one who claims he would wish to trust me, to be my friend? Perhaps you can imagine why I was angry."

"I… I didn't… manipulate you," he protested softly, stiltedly.

"Yes, you did. I know you've explained away using me to hurt Kirilan as being entirely for his own good, but that isn't perfectly true. Surely you realized as well as I did that you wanted to prove I was yours, you wanted to shove your possession of me into his face, because I was something he'd never have imagined could go to you over him. You had, once again, won out with what he wanted."

His eyes darkened. "He… needed to understand that you were off-limits."

"He _knew_ that, Legolas. It may still take him some time, but he already knew." She shook her head. "And then, you used me to drive her completely away. You'd said your piece, given her your goodbye, and expected she would simply fall in line and be as done with you as you were with her. You knew she would follow you—perhaps she'd already been doing so, annoying you because she could not fill her heart with ice in mere hours? Asking you to explain why you'd cut her heart without any apparent injury to your own, when she believed you not as cold as that. You knew she'd follow, and you let her. You let her insult me, and never even _thought_ of rising to my defense. You knew I could dismiss her, could run her off, as you either couldn't or wouldn't."

"Perhaps it was for the best that she heard it from you…" he whispered almost desperately, eyes dark.

She laughed. "Oh, she heard it, alright. I'll give her credit—she knew what I was saying. She acts like a child but she has her own claws, and can read between the lines. Thankfully she's given you up as a lost cause and no doubt would pity me if she didn't think me 'horrible, utterly horrible'," she mocked bitterly.

"Do you need pity?"

She turned away once more. "Do I? I don't really know. As you say, I'm now a princess to a realm… a realm I've not really been a part of. I know little enough of life because I've been living my own death, simply awaiting the inevitable, marking time by the slow, unavoidable escaping of vitality. Still…" A faint smile slowly curled her lips. "Do you know, we've fought more since agreeing to be friends than we ever did before? And it hurts more, now, as well." Her smile grew. "So, yes, I suppose. I am pitiful. Pity me, scorn me… just _please_ do not manipulate me."

He heard the raw emotions in her voice, and frowned slightly. "We've already said you use a mask more efficiently than I," he said quietly. "Am I manipulating you, Anumi, or are you manipulating me? Pretty words for a broken heart, yet I feel _nothing_. No anger, no pain, no sorrow. I can feel the ache of the cut you've reopened on your right forefinger, yet not a single emotion. How can I trust you, when I should be feeling you, and yet feel nothing?"

She let out a short laugh. "You don't want to feel me, Legolas." She smiled faintly, looking at him over her shoulder. "If you did, you'd have to face this. You'd have to accept that I am your wife—the only wife you're likely to have, unless you truly plan to kill me with indifference. That is an option, I suppose. All you have to do is ignore me, and in a few centuries I'll have faded away, if not sooner. You can marry someone of your choosing, then."

"Would you _stop_ saying that?" he asked, aggravated. "I don't intend you to die, and certainly not because of me."

"No?" she asked, another faint smile curving her lips.

He closed his eyes when she didn't outright accuse him as Glorfindel had. He wasn't relieved. "Anumi…" Finally he sighed, and nodded once, curtly. "You want to know a truth, Anumi? I don't mind that you and Glorfindel kissed. I'd have minded terribly if you kissed Kirilan, but Glorfindel is a good elf and discrete, as well. He will not kiss and tell, nor will he expect anything to have come of it, even while in the act itself. Should you attempt to kiss any when we're back in Mirkwood, I shall be tempted to imprison him and lock you in my chambers—I _require_ a certain amount of obedience, and in my position I cannot afford to lose respect, such as a wayward wife would cause." He made himself move forward a half-step. "What I minded, more than anything that afternoon, was that I only felt what you physically felt, and what the bond protested. I didn't know if you liked it, if you hated it, if you wanted to rage and scream or laugh or cry. I got there, and your eyes were as blank and empty as your emotions had been. I could find nothing, either place."

She looked at him, and smiled. "You don't like being vulnerable," she said softly, clinically.

"No one does," he snapped, annoyed. "You're drawing off-point."

"Am I? You want to feel what I feel, because you feel that a one-sided emotional flow can be used against you. You wish my emotions for no other reason."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "You can feel me, Anumi, though I cannot feel you. Do you believe what you're saying? What good does it do for us to fight each other?"

"None," she agreed. "So accept not feeling me. I shall be as unobtrusive as I can be, and of course, a perfectly loyal royal doormat."

Anger flared up in him so violently and quickly that it flashed in her eyes in practically the same instant. He closed the distance between them before she could completely recover, pressing almost against her—making her move back. "I don't _want_ a doormat! Any elf in the wood would become one if I commanded, though some would be more aware of it than others. I don't need you to change, Anumi, nor do I wish it. I thought you mildly interesting before the trip—if it were not for Kirilan I may have even grown to like you, had we ran into each other often enough." He set his hands on her shoulders and shook her quickly. "So would you _listen_ to me for a minute? I don't want a bloody unobtrusive loyal royal doormat! I want a wife."

He dropped his hands from her abruptly under her blank, cold stare, and stepped back. "But I don't have one, do I?" At that statement, a cold, pained sorrow curled through his chest and flashed in his veins, the ache overwhelming for a long moment. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned, intending to gather his things and return to the room he'd always been given on his visits to the Last Homely House.

He'd picked up one boot when he felt something crack, beginning to break. He stilled, then released his grip on the soft-worn leather, straightening slowly, knowing if he left now, it would never come fully down.

He could almost hear a crumbling mass fall around his ears, but closed his eyes in the flood of emotions that enveloped him. They stole his air and jelled his blood, darkened his eyes… before a breath of hope curled through them, growing stronger as she approached.

He turned, caught the hand she'd hesitantly extended to him, and brought it to his lips. "It will take time, mate. No small amount of time. But you cannot think burying yourself will make me happy—it merely leaves me half buried." He gently trailed his fingers from her temple to jaw. After watching her eyes for a time of terrible hesitance, he spoke once more. "I am not your father, Anumi."

She studied him for a long moment, and then hope and peace and calm winged through his chest with a breathtaking intensity, making her eyes warm and her smile true. "I know," she whispered, before her eyes fell from his and she tilted her head down.

He smiled at feeling her shyness, her hesitant longing. He took the half-step that separated them and pulled her close, the proximity calming the bond that had gnawed irritably at them both during the last week… as they'd both been avoiding the other, though he more actively of the two.


	15. Destined to descend

The 'I'm not your father' line in chapter 14 caused a lot of confusion--sorry! Basically, Legolas is telling Anumi that he doesn't want her to hide what she's feeling from him, even if it hurts them both (that's the quick version, anyway).

* * *

**_Chapter 15: Destined to descend _**

Under the appraising look he bestowed upon her she felt heat climb into her ears.

He chuckled softly and rested a hand on her back, fingers lightly moving up to hang on her shoulder. "It is good to see you have hope."

She smiled faintly as her eyes lowered, studying the swirling leaves there far too intently.

He pulled her closer for a moment before releasing her. "May I ask how this came about?"

She laughed softly. "I'm not actually sure. He went from being completely uninterested to declaring he wanted a wife…"

"Perhaps he finally understood that he had one, whether he wanted one or not…"

"So he may as well have a _true_ one? Perhaps. I thought that was what we'd agreed upon before even coming in sight of the mountains, but apparently I was mistaken."

Glorfindel shrugged, an elegant move that made the multicolored robes he wore shift in an oddly well-coordinated rush of colors. "I doubt your hearing is in question—it rarely is, among the elves."

She smiled wryly, making him chuckle.

He inclined his head slightly as they headed towards the training fields, where the twins had _insisted_ they be when all had been gathered for breakfast this morning. It was almost the insisted upon time. "So, he took longer than you did to accept a life-altering mishap."

She looked at him drolly.

He laughed. "Well, really—even if _I_ happen to rather like the bride, _loving_ her is usually something the groom does well before any ceremony is even considered… even if it is only the old blood-rite."

She frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

He paused to look at her, watching her bite her lower lip. "Hmm?"

She glanced at him absently at the curious noise, and then shook herself, returning to the present. "Oh," she half-shrugged. "Not the obvious, as you know," she dismissed, and he nodded—the unusual circumstances in her binding were, well, old news, at this point. At least for them. "But that it _is_ only the old blood-rite. It's still a binding, and a strong one… but will it be enough for King and Country? King, yes, naturally—Thranduil is terribly soft about his kin, and would do nothing to hurt or potentially allow hurt to be done. But what of the Wood?"

"What of the Wood?"

Glorfindel jerked slightly and glanced up, but Anumi simply slipped back into her contemplation and worries until a gentle hand touched her cheek. She blinked, and tilted her head curiously.

He rolled his eyes. "What of the Wood?" he repeated, more insistently.

"I realize you're a Prince of Wood-Elves," Glorfindel grumbled, now looking up suspiciously for a dark-haired duo of disaster who seemed destined to descend upon him when least expected, "but _must_ you keep falling from trees like that?"

"I don't _fall_ from trees," began Legolas, his tone both annoyed and pompous; as if he couldn't quite decide whether to be completely offended or snooty, "and I am _Legolas_, after all. Where better than a tree for me to be?"

Anumi laughed, shaking her head as Glorfindel took a long moment to attempt working out the last half. After all, no _wood-elf_ would need a moment. The hand she hadn't noticed slipping into her own gave her fingers a squeeze. She looked curiously at the navy eyes watching her.

He sighed. "What of the Wood?" he asked weakly.

She stared at him blankly.

"Blood-rite," Glorfindel offered helpfully.

She turned half-way to him before it clicked. "Oh!" she remembered, promptly frowning.

Legolas groaned. "Would you _stop_ worrying and just explain it already?" he groused.

She bit her lip, but her humor turned his lips before he stilled them, shooting her a mockingly annoyed look for so affecting his emotions. She half-smiled, reveling in the simple contentment the lack of harsh and tumultuous emotions brought, soothing her weary mind after the terrible week they'd recently spent.

"Anumi?" Legolas asked, calling her name with an almost child-like ring, drawing her attention back.

She rolled her eyes. "You are persistent."

"Mm." His eyes were focused on her.

She snorted softly. "Is the blood-rite enough for the Wood?"

He blinked, his emotions stilling as thought took him over utterly for a long moment. Then, she felt annoyance, followed by defiance, which faded slightly to a cautious concern. He looked at her, and the emotions settled. "It will be," he said at length.

Feeling him go through his emotions made her feel like they were much farther in the conversation than his words allowed, so she thought back a moment. "Really?"

Something gave her away—be it her internal emotions, something in her eyes, or some dry hint to her voice, _something_ made him smile ruefully. "It will be, yes. Because I had not intended to fling about the true story—that would make things quite unbearable. I thought to simply return and announce our binding. Any rude enough to speak shall be ignored or put off, or given merely part of the truth."

She shook her head slightly, but knew he didn't take it as dissent, which it wasn't. She was merely surprised at herself—she hadn't really considered their return, yet… not beyond _returning_. She completely understood his disinclination to explain exactly how their binding had come about. Many would pity him, many would pity her, some would envy her, but more than those things—which were enough on their own to convince her the wisdom of avoiding such—there would be those who would completely disregard their bond because of its origin. Speaking nothing of cause would keep such thoughts to a minimum, if it did not do away with them utterly.

She was close to agreeing, considering all of those things, but for one little catch that she really didn't, herself, consider so very _little_. "And our kin?"

He inclined his head. "Our fathers at least shall be told the truth. Kirilan already knows, naturally… Odrune…" he shrugged. "I don't think it would make a difference. She's long wanted a sister, and how she gets one shan't really matter. She'll be a bit more cloyingly sweet around you, offering sympathies and condolences, and shocked looks should we seem to get along when not in the presence of those not of blood…"

Anumi was already shaking her head.

He half-smiled. "Just our fathers, then. Your father is the only one beside my own I might have told…" he frowned slightly, and she smiled.

"And Nana?" she mused.

The serious look he gave her made her smile turn to a grin. "I think she would know, even if we said nothing."

She laughed. "She doesn't know everything, fool," she chided.

"It certainly feels like she does—everything in which she's interested in knowing anything, at least."

She tilted her head.

"Now _that_ was a clear statement," Glorfindel snorted, still keeping a sharp eye out for the twins.

The two Mirkwood elves looked at him, both having more than half-forgotten he was there. Legolas recalled himself first, and shrugged. "I mean merely that while she may well know what elf is interested in whatever other elf long before either would notice it themselves, she has no care to know the more intimate workings of the warriors, the guards…"

"The assassins? As so few speak on them at all, I doubt even Nana would feel comfortable trying to learn more about them."

Legolas's lips tightened and he squeezed her hand.

She quirked a brow at the chastising his emotions gave her, though he held his tongue. "I'm sure Glorfindel knows we have such. There is probably a similar rank here, though perhaps not as high a level of secrecy around them."

"Their identities are utterly and jealously guarded, Anumi," Glorfindel said quietly.

She frowned. "But why?"

"Because," Legolas answered, "they are viewed darkly."

Glorfindel inclined his head, smiling faintly at Anumi's confusion. "It is a difficult and… disturbing thing. Any elf who can be called an assassin is close to a very fine edge, if he doesn't walk upon it. He does what he does, and he does it very well—but he could do it _too_ well, and become worse than a kin-slayer."

"What could be _worse_?"

"One who kills any who offer a slight threat, or worse, no threat at all, merely for the sake of killing. It has happened only twice in Mirkwood; I know not for other realms."

"We have had three lost," Glorfindel admitted, his voice still just as low as Legolas's. "They lose what makes them _elves_, Anumi."

"Then… then why have them at all? Shouldn't such potential be ignored, rather than exploited?"

The males smiled darkly, identical smiles of those who have walked in darkness and emerged still within the light. Glorfindel shook his head, but it was Legolas to speak. "They are the best, Anumi. The finest warriors to be found—as fleet and stealthy as shadows, noticed even less. An assassin can do the work of a patrol in the wood—a troop of orcs or a nest of spiders could be killed by one assassin. Only _one_ elf, to do all that. And with his skill, while he may bear a slight injury upon his return, he will _always_ return. It would be an odd and unlucky fluke to keep him from doing so."

"So they're more effective and less likely to be lost," she summed up, still with a slight frown.

"To put it simply," Legolas agreed, shrugging. He shook his head as she began nibbling her lower lip. "Leave concern for the assassins to the one who commands them. Your dear Elladan is no doubt up to some amusing trick for your pleasure."

"Sadly, not right now," the elf in question said, drawing their attention to the faintly annoyed twins.

"Took you three long enough," Elrohir grumbled, slowly straightening from his slouch against an ancient tree. Elladan moved from his own lounging place, and held out a bow to Anumi, while Elrohir tossed her companions their own bows.

"What is this?" Legolas asked, catching himself about to automatically string the bow from long habit.

"Well, we've got a good chance this time to settle this competition once and for all. One of Gondolin, two of Imladris, and two of Mirkwood."

Glorfindel sighed in annoyance. "When will you give _up_?" he growled.

"I imagine they will be satisfied only when they win," Legolas said quietly, but shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you," he drawled, sounding far from sorry, "but nothing has changed since the last time we had this competition. Anumi has never used a bow, according, at least, to her father," he amended, glancing at her.

She shook her head. "I've a dagger my mother gave me to keep at the headboard, but it's the only weapon I've handled, save in helping Father off with his when he's overdone it on a long hunt."

Elrohir suddenly rolled his eyes and smacked his brother's middle with the back of his hand. "Kirilan!"

Legolas snorted, then looked as if he wanted to withdraw it from the air. He grimaced slightly, and explained his reaction. "He's… not really much of an archer," he said slowly, rocking back onto his heels. "He has never been interested," he added, shrugging.

The twins sighed, before both shrugging. "Well, she'll just have to do." Elladan grabbed her arm and propelled her to stand by a line traced in the dirt, and pointed out the bit of bagged leaves she was to aim at.

Legolas and Glorfindel knew through long, _long_ practice that they couldn't avoid this competition. They may get to put it off a day or two, but the twins always returned when the bug had bitten them, and _eventually_ they would give in out of sheer weariness. Giving in gracefully seemed the only way to keep some spare time as spare, rather than in protesting.

So the two merely strung their bows and emptied the quiver of arrows the twins had left standing before each target, before unstringing their bows with the same unenthused grace.

Legolas felt Anumi's frustration and disturbance, and grew quite annoyed with the cause. "Elladan!" he barked sharply.

Not only did _Elladan_ turn at his commanding call, but so did all of the others.

Internally, he winced slightly. He tried to leave the Prince in Mirkwood… but sometimes he reappeared for a moment or two. "If you would _kindly_ stop harassing my wife…?"

Elladan looked at him for a long moment, long enough that Legolas could feel Anumi's relief at this apparent rescue from the embarrassment she expected. Then he turned to her again. "Just one arrow, Anumi."

Her relief flashed to annoyance and was compounded by Legolas's own anger at his dismissal, so that before he could even open his mouth or lift his foot to take the intended swift steps forward, she had turned to the target, withdrawn and notched an arrow, and let it fly.

It landed with a small, hollow thud in the dead _center_ of the painted target.

For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of the bow falling from her hand in utter shock.

After blinking in confusion, she looked at Elladan and covered her mouth with a hand to keep from laughing literally in his face.

Legolas shook his head with a small smile, and felt a calming relief spread over him.

It was strong enough to get through her humor, apparently, as she calmed and looked at him curiously.

He smiled faintly, extending his hand.

She moved past Elladan, slipping her hand into his while still waiting for his explanation with _very_ patient eyes.

He tipped his head at the target. "I've heard that sometimes an elf who knew nothing of cooking before being bonded sometimes finds himself fixing his favorite meal when he is desperately hungry but his wife is not around. My relief is at knowing you can use my skills, when needed."

She looked back at the target, then to his own. She merely inclined her head and turned her hand more comfortably in his, letting him draw her away from the slack-jawed twins.


	16. Broken pottery

**_Chapter 16: Broken pottery _**

Kirilan hesitated for a moment, then moved forward as if that moment had not occurred. Silver eyes looked up at him, moving sharply away as he settled down across the small clearing.

They both looked up when Legolas entered a moment later, a bag to match Kirilan's in his hand. He paused. Then he bowed his head slightly. "Lindril." He set his burden next to Kirilan's, then chose a position from which he could watch those paths that meandered to this common picnicking site which Kirilan himself wasn't watching.

A short silence fell over them.

"I trust you two have already introduced yourselves? It would be terribly impolite had you not done so, if we are to be picnicking together."

"The Lady and I have met, Legolas," Kirilan said softly, watching the long pale gold hair shift in a tiny, agreeing nod.

Neither mentioned the circumstances, nor the broken pottery.

Legolas inclined his head slightly, then looked at her for a long moment. "How are your little brothers?" he asked, slowly.

She slowly took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "They are well, your highness."

Legolas's jaw tightened for a moment, before he reached into a small pocket, withdrawing two small figures made of carved stone and cleverly fused metals. Silently, he held them out.

As Lindril looked at them without word or movement, Kirilan internally shook his head at his brother. He'd been wise not to offer them before—they'd likely have been destroyed. When she hesitantly took them, he wasn't surprised.

He was surprised when Legolas elaborated on them, telling her the stories of Mirkwood that accompanied them—and that there were but three more creatures of fable that they now did not possess. He promised to send them on with Kirilan.

Lindril nodded, thanking him softly, tucking the little things into the pouch that hid within the folds of her gown. She didn't meet his eyes.

Knowing his brother as he did… or had _thought_ he did, Kirilan expected that Legolas would now get up and wander off to another place, either using his bond with Anumi to draw her and the twins there, or leaving him behind to direct them when they arrived. Perhaps both.

He didn't expect him to offer Lindril an invitation to stay, nor to then draw her into gentle and genteel conversation as the time limped past until the others would be joining them.

He supposed he shouldn't have really been surprised—not really, but he was. Lindril… well, her first impression upon him had not been, by any means, good. It's hard to have a clear picture of someone when one must constantly dodge projectiles to keep one's head whole and healthy. If _this_ was who she was, he could understand, a little, why his brother had settled upon her for his trips here.

She was quiet, deferential without being obsequious, polite… and it seemed like she might actually be a genuinely nice person.

As long as someone wasn't breaking her heart, at least.

Well, it couldn't have been too broken—they'd been here nearly two months and she had presented no signs of fading.

The first time she laughed at something Legolas said, Kirilan completely understood. Her laugh was beautiful, drawing attention and allowing a small bubble of joy in anyone who heard it. Her eyes shining certainly helped, as well.

Still… his loyalty ever was to Anumi—she was his sister, now, so he remained silent and watched the two interact, feeling slightly uneasy until he noticed neither leaned towards the other. He relaxed at that subtle sign of lingering tension, though they conversed like old friends.

Conversation failed into semi-comfortable silence for a time, broken by Lindril, asking the first direct question of Legolas that Kirilan had heard.

"Legolas… why are you smiling?"

Kirilan's attention snapped to his brother, to find that he was, indeed, smiling. That was shock enough… but there was no reason for it! "Legolas?" he asked, when her question failed to get an answer.

Legolas blinked, looking at him curiously. "What?" he asked vaguely. His eyes shone brightly with good humor.

"What is so amusing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't—oh," Kirilan broke off. "Anumi?"

Legolas inclined his head slightly, before relaxing back against the stone seat set at his point around the circle. He seemed a bit boneless, utterly relaxed—and as far unlike the Commander as he could get while still being possessed of the same body.

Kirilan and Lindril both studied him, curiously enjoying the good humor in his eyes, even as they knew it wasn't his own.

Well, Kirilan knew. Whether Lindril had extrapolated that or not he certainly didn't know.

Suddenly, though, the relaxed humor was gone.

With a hiss, Legolas's eyes shuttered, going dark as he bounded up so quickly he might have been propelled by the earth itself. He dove forward, his body half swallowed by the tall thin plants that grew to the edge of the stone paths before he emerged, Anumi grasped tightly in his arms as he rose to his feet.

Legolas hadn't moved back more than a step before Elladan emerged from the sheltering of the plants, his concern obvious.

"Are you—oh. Legolas caught you, then?"

Anumi nodded against Legolas's shoulder, as she couldn't move much else, thanks to Legolas's tight hold.

Legolas released her when he felt her irritation, smiling a bit shakily at her until she smiled in return, smoothing out her gown. "What happened?" he asked, checking that she was truly alright, though he already _knew_ that she was.

"Elladan was being… well, _Elladan_, and… I tripped."

"You were caused to trip, you mean," he said, voice low and firm.

"It was as much my own fault, Legolas."

"Still," Legolas took her hand and led her over to the seat he'd had before, pulling her along as he sat.

Anumi shook her head with a small snort, but remained beside him, watching the twins settle down. "Kirilan? Are you quite well?"

He swallowed tightly. "I am fine, little sister. Have you been introduced to Lady Lindril?"

Anumi looked to the other elf in the clearing, and offered a small smile. "I have not."

"Princess Anumi of Mirkwood, I present Lady Lindril of Imladris, daughter of Lord Torthain and Lady Mercina."

The two looked at each other for a long moment, before Lindril bowed her head. "Princess."

Anumi inclined hers slightly. "Lady." She looked to Kirilan, who froze under her gaze. "Is this to be a picnic or not, Kirilan?"

Kirilan chuckled softly and began opening the food bundles, smirking to himself as not only the twins, but ­_Legolas_ relaxed after her mocking question.

Through the course of the meal Legolas and the twins set about educating him on the politics of Imladris, which were actually far less complex than those he was used to. They were also far more flexible—and his title would cover far more gaffs here than in his own realm.

No wonder Legolas so liked bringing messages!

Time passed, as time was wont to do, and the stores of food dwindled to nothing as the sun fell in the sky. As the sounds of Lindir's music drifted out from the main house, the twins stirred themselves from the place they'd been sprawled, getting to their feet with discreet yawns.

"It's best we head in as well," Legolas declared, rising to his feet. Anumi didn't open her eyes as she reached for his extended hand, walking beside him blindly.

"Is she even awake?"

Kirilan laughed softly at Lindril's question. "Yes."

"Their bond is quite deep… it must be."

Though Kirilan could well have assumed her question was a needy one—a jilted lover, needing reassurance that whatever replaced her was so much greater than she that no male could have resisted… he didn't. Because the last part of her question was spoken with quiet awe.

"I mean," she continued on when he didn't speak for thinking, "they can feel each other—physically and emotionally… can't they."

"Yes, they can."

She closed her eyes, biting her lip. "No wonder she hated me."

"I daresay she was rather more upset with him at the time."

"I don't blame her."

He smiled. "Nor do I. Any more than I can blame him for his own upset—or his goodbyes."

She snorted. "I…" she blushed, and he politely turned his eyes towards the main house. "I'm sorry," she said at length.

He blinked—quite sure that wasn't what she'd been thinking. "Pardon?"

"For taking it out on you."

"Oh," he mused, shrugging. "I'm the middle child."

There was a silence. "Meaning what?"

He smiled. "I'm used to Odrune's temper and Legolas's silence. He looks after me, I look after her. I'm far more accustomed to dealing with volatile female emotions than—"

"Volatile female emotions." The words were quiet.

Kirilan winced.

"_Volatile female emotions?!?" _

"Erm…" He stopped walking, refusing to meet her gaze for fear of explosion.

"No wonder Legolas seems so dense," she muttered after a moment. "Well," she declared, "good luck to Anumi—she's going to need it."

And that, mused Kirilan, was that.


	17. The sun had arrived at midnight

**_Chapter 17: The sun had arrived at _** **_midnight_****__**

Anumi glanced back at Imladris before the curve of the mountain's path blocked the view. Those watching had long since gone inside, but she could recall their faces with typical elven ease. Still… she would miss Elladan, and Glorfindel. And maybe Elrohir as well. She shifted enough she could look up at the owner of the hand that rested lightly on her middle.

He blinked and came back from whatever memories he'd been wandering though to quirk a brow.

She looked back behind them before meeting his eyes. It had been a lovely winter, really, and spring had been quite beautiful in the many gardens, as well. "Why did we stay so long?" she asked softly.

He smiled, a small tender smile that she'd learned well enough in the last months was reserved only for family—which now included her, after all. "You were not ready to leave," he answered quietly.

She recalled again the startling announcement of impending departure shortly after she'd realized she was becoming homesick. "I miss Father," she said at length, before resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm only surprised it took you this long," he mused.

A fond smile turned her lips. "Elladan, Glorfindel…"

"A whole new realm to explore?" he added, the tease only _felt_, not heard.

"Mm-hmm," she agreed. She yawned. "Why not accept the horse, really?" He'd given her safety as a reason, and Elrond's house had accepted that.

He snorted. "Because we would be forever drawn close to talk, and would wish to talk quietly, as we are now. Can you imagine us attempting such on separate horses?"

"Well, we—"

"We're not walking," he stated flatly.

She snickered.

After a moment he chuckled softly. "But we would have."

"Yes," she agreed, cheerfully enough. "Have you ordered Brehurin to say nothing about the nature of the binding?"

He looked at her until she finally twisted enough to see him. He quirked a brow imperiously. "Do you _honestly_ think I had no such consideration?"

"Does that mean you didn't, and shall do so as soon as I'm completely asleep?" she asked sweetly.

He shook his head slightly. "I warned them all before you were spending more of the days awake."

"But…"

"Elrond, Glorfindel, even a stray Imladris elf or two—no worries. But there are a few who do gossip back and forth with the wood through falcons, through trading. Word could have gotten back, and even such a rumor would be annoying." He glared at her. "I've enough to look after without being struck through by every third lord attempting to seduce my wife."

She quirked a brow. "Why would they want to do that? What could they _possibly_ gain from such? Certainly not princely favor."

"But the favor of a princess, Anumi," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I—"

"Must get used to it. You've not been faced with it yet… in that way, it was good timing. Imladris is very lax about titles. Mirkwood is not. Even as Kirilan was to you, did you ever drop his title, even in exasperation?"

"In exasperation is when I may not even drop yours," she muttered darkly.

He quirked a brow, wondering at whatever memory prompted the tone, but she shook her head.

"Only when speaking on him when he was not there… but then, I've dropped yours, as well."

"Really? And here I thought they were adjoined to our names so firmly it took a smith's finest tools and heaviest hammer to pry them apart."

She laughed, shaking her head. "For some, even given leave to do so they never would. For others, the title is as flexible as their own—I never minded being called merely Anumi."

"Because of your mother?" he asked, before swiftly frowning and looking down at her. "I did not mean to…"

She inclined her head in an agreeing nod, and took a long moment to let the sharp stab of emotions ease. "She was a wood-elf," she said quietly.

"That much you admit freely. But there is much about her you do not admit." Recalling Cabrical, he looked at her, as disassociated from _her_ as he could, seeing very little of the lord in her features. Her coloring certainly didn't match. "Your mother's eyes?"

She shook her head. "I can barely remember her features, the memory of youth being what it is, but I do remember her eyes. They were so brilliant they often startled elves who didn't know her. I remember giggling at their shock, at seeing heads turn for another look."

"Perhaps she is simply that beautiful."

"Was," she whispered softly, swallowing tightly.

He frowned. "I thought…"

"She left the mountain, the halls. She'd claimed to head West… but I know she didn't. If Father knows… I could never ask."

His mind flashed back over the few and brief conversations he'd had with Cabrical that involved the other elf's family. Slowly he shook his head. "I can't say. I will say, however, that he is a very astute and observant elf."

"High praise indeed."

"It is, from me," he countered, frowning at her. "I've already said he is the one elf other than my father I would have told of this binding—not assuming the one I was bonded to was you. Should not that have told you I greatly esteem him?"

She sighed, and smiled weakly. "I…"

"Divert attention very well," he agreed. "Though better, perhaps, with those far less accustomed to such tactics than am I."

They rode in solemn silence, until she sighed again, allowing the painful topic for the sake of having _any_ topic. "I've her hair, of course, and many have said I look quite like her. But my eyes are more my father's." She tilted her head. "Not in color, nor perhaps even in shape. Something intangible, indescribable."

Slowly, he nodded. "It is very subtle, and not something one could use to establish kinship, but yes."

She half-smiled. "I suppose _you've_ a name for it?"

He shook his head. "No. I've seen a bit of whatever it is in many eyes, but I dare not attempt to name it."

Her smile grew and softened. "It would feel like trying to dissect a star, wouldn't it?"

"Hmm." A faint smile touched his lips before he looked above them, at the stars beginning to appear as day faded utterly into memory. "What else do you remember of her? Were you very young?"

"I was not old enough to climb in the rock room, but older than your sister was when your mother was lost. I don't exactly remember." She shifted, settling her head on his shoulder, rearranging her legs to curl up against him.

He moved back a little and linked his fingers to hold her entire body against him, offering support for her pose and protection from the chill wind, his cloak wrapping her.

She curled her fingers in the edge, preferring the thicker cloak that was packed on one of the horses—it was lined with black rabbit fur. "I remember loving her dearly, and feeling like the sun had arrived at midnight solely for my pleasure when she appeared during the day to take me from the group, leading me about the halls. We ducked through every little passageway she'd found in her years, and she'd spent most of them living there, though when she and Father bound she was no longer to roam the forest, nor the meadow. She told me stories of creatures she'd seen, of hunts, of great silver trees and grasses so tall you could lose an elf on horseback. She told me about spiders, about the smell of orcs…"

"It is unforgettable, but I'd imagine difficult to describe."

Her eyes glassed slightly. "She was right. She said they smelled of terror, despair, rot and death."

"I'd have thrown blood and cold metal into the mix. Along with burnt flesh."

She stared at the underside of his chin until he looked at her. He quirked a brow curiously. Slowly she shook her head. "I heard so rarely of you being with a patrol…"

He snorted. "That means little. I certainly don't send out letters whenever I'm putting my life in danger. The less my possible mortality is considered the better for all."

She felt a pang, and grimaced. "Well, it's out, now."

"Save in dire need."

"Direst," she countered, narrowing her eyes on him.

She could actually _feel_ him being evasive. "Perhaps."

"No _perhaps_," she stated firmly, reaching up to tilt his head down. She checked his eyes and emotions, distress flaring within her. "Please don't," she whispered. "I shall fret terribly if you do."

He stilled, considering her. Slowly he sighed. "I'd not thought of that."

"What _did_ you think of, then?"

"That it would be quite simple to slip away, that you would never know I was gone."

"But I would feel ground instead of stone under your feet, the wind…"

"Yes. And feeling that I was outside when you'd not known of such plans, you would worry. You're quite a worrier, aren't you?"

"When given reason," she grumbled.

He smiled faintly, and looked at that far distant point on the horizon that held all the answers. "I can't say our definitions of dire will match," he said at length. "Nor that I shall explain why I consider something a task that I must undertake… nor, for that matter, what the task exactly _is_… but I will consider your reactions before setting out."

"And what of your reactions? You paced terribly, I'm told, while I was unconscious. I've heard from Elladan how you reacted when you couldn't feel me. Would you have me cut you from my emotions while you're occupied with whatever task?"

He frowned, before grimacing. "I cannot say. At once—that would solve my worries for your emotions distracting me, endangering me. And yet… it disturbed me greatly to feel nothing. How much more would such bother me now, now that I've grown so accustomed to feeling you that we have half a conversation without words?"

"An equal distraction, perhaps?"

"Perhaps… and perhaps I should seriously consider actually retiring," he added softly, his frown dark as his eyes deepened with his considerations.

She looked at the elves who were riding rather far ahead of them, then back at her husband's bent head. She almost spoke… but reconsidered, drawing the words back from the tip of her tongue, burying them deeply within the chambers of her mind. "Have you gotten over her loss?"

He glanced at her, utterly blank.

She smiled weakly. "Your mother's."

"Oh," he said softly, before giving it some thought. "Yes and no, I suppose is the only honest answer. It has been so long without her that—as with you—my memories grow cloudy. I was but barely in my second century, and while the historians could give exact times, I care not to know. She… was not as much there for her children as your mother was for you. We did not play together. She sang and read to us at night, after dinner. In that way… losing Nana would have been harder. But still, she was my mother, and there can never be a replacement for her."

She studied him silently.

He looked at her, and smiled weakly with a small sigh. "What?"

"Is… is it true you were there when she died?"

His pupils widened, and to the part of her that always felt him, he went blank. Then a wrenching pain closed his eyes, and she had her answer, even before he nodded. She was amazed that with that depth of pain she'd seen no sign of it on his face. She wouldn't have known, did she not feel him. "Say what I will about her, however I try to dismiss her," he whispered hoarsely, "I cannot. She was the brightest star in my sky, and I could not be pulled from her side once I laid eyes upon her. I would spend my days in court, merely to be beside her, to feel her hand in my hair. When she was carried in…" he broke off.

Her throat tightened and she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I… I just _knew_… she would never get well again. I begged and pleaded as if there was a chance, of course, as if she had merely to wish it to rise up and smile once more… Naturally, that—" he stopped, swallowed, shook his head slightly before shifting his arms to hold her. When he began speaking again, his tone was almost absent, more like he was speaking from a great distance.

She understood—he'd returned to that time, to that heart-tearing moment, and spoke without really knowing or caring. She simply held him without moving, her eyes blind with tears and memories she couldn't see.

"Even Da couldn't sway me, couldn't talk me away from her side. I tuned them all out—her breathing and heart were all I heard… and they were growing fainter, softer. I… I don't know quite what I did, or if I was dreaming, but I lay beside her, climbed in next to her as she did to read those late-night stories. I rested my head on her chest and… wished for her. I could _feel_ her hand in my hair, I could _see_ her eyes as she smiled so very, very sadly at me. 'I've got to go now, love', I heard her say. 'But you've to stay here', she went on. Her fingers slid down my cheek, then rested over my heart. 'I'll always be here, watching over you.' Then…" He blinked a few times, and seemed to realize he'd been speaking. He shook his head slightly, his voice a bit stronger. "Then, she was gone, and Da was pulling me away. The healers… were most concerned about _me_…"

"Why?" she whispered, when he didn't seem about to continue.

"My body… had chilled. My breathing slowed, heartbeat down almost to nothing. They'd thought, for a few minutes, that _I_ was dying, as well… they thought I was too young to pass for grief, but were considering it when she died—or rather, until just before, as my body jerked and returned to normal." He half-shrugged, as if dismissing it as so very long ago.

She could see his eyes, yet, for his head was slightly downcast. They were too dark for her to allow such thoughts of dismissal. "You were with her," she mused.

"Perhaps. But I was so utterly sure it was _real_, Anumi, and they insisted she never woke."

"But that is what I _mean_, Legolas—you _were with her_. You'd cast yourself to where she was. She sent you back." She pressed her fingers to his chest, over his heart, and his fingers soon covered hers thoughtfully.

"Maybe so… perhaps…"

"Perhaps?"

He managed a weak smile, bringing her fingers to his lips before releasing them. "Perhaps that is why I heal as I do? My healing has often astounded the healers. Many times they expected I would not live through something, yet I was all but well in less time than they'd have expected for a lesser injury."

"Many times?" she repeated. "I've heard of but a few."

He nodded. "Naturally. Though there is only so much one can insist silence upon, my wounds are often treated only in silence."

"If at all," she added.

He smiled slightly. "Hmm," he agreed, before closing his eyes. She could feel him seeking out the calmness she felt, felt him wrap himself in it as he wrapped her in his cloak. "They never believed me," he said quietly, after they'd nearly caught up to the others.

"Not even Thranduil?"

"Especially not Da." He tilted his head contemplatively to one side. "I rather think it would have hurt him to believe it. To think that she could have reached him, but chose to reach me, instead."

"But you were the one beside her."

He snorted. "I was the one who defied the healers and what was expected of me—even at that age—to rest against her. But Ada was always there, sitting in a chair pulled close, ever smoothing her hair, taking her hand…" His eyes lightened, startling her with how alarmingly bleak that dramatic change was. "I rather think if it were not for his responsibilities, he would have followed her." After a long moment, he looked at her. She watched the color slowly head back to his normal navy. "How was your father?"

She sighed, and shook her head. "He loved her greatly… too much, I think. He was so concerned for her safety that he bound her to fade."

He watched her eyes. "He knew that. Knew that the same thing was what made you begin to fade."

"Yes," she agreed. "Wood-elf blood is not contented in the heart of a mountain, no matter how well-lit or beautifully crafted. She'd been free until he bound her to him, and then she was free only in memory. I wonder, sometimes, if they had me merely in an attempt to give her something that would hold her back… Perhaps I did, for she stayed many years after my birth. I was old enough, when she left, to know she was diminished…"

"To read something in her eyes that told you she would not return."

She nodded. "Is it something children just _know_? Or are we both simply examples of childhood melodrama that actually proved true?"

"Well, yours is not proven…" He frowned. "Surely… surely your father _felt_ her?"

She shook her head. "She taught me to control my emotions, Legolas. I've no doubt she could hide herself very well, if they ever felt each other as do we." Her head found its place against his chest. "And naturally, upon leaving, she would keep him from feeling her."

With a nod, he spoke softly to his horse, giving them a greater distance in which to speak without fear of being overheard. "And so he lost her, and yet, would have left you to her fate?"

"He was sending me to Imladris."

He smiled at her quick defense. "Yes…"

She sighed, and shrugged. "I'm only _half_ wood-elf. He's content within the mountain. I suppose he hoped that, as I'd never been beyond, I wouldn't feel the desire to be so."

"Even a caged bird dreams of flying," he said, and she smiled at feeling his conflicting emotions. He saw, and smiled ruefully. "I shall ever respect him… and likely, ever think his course with you a foolish one, indeed."

She simply nodded, and closed her eyes. "Enough of mothers for now, I think," she mused.

He chuckled, bending his head down so his nose was against her crown. They both took comfort in the presence of the other, of their mate; both burrowed into that contentment, using it to help soothe the last lingering aches of memories who's edges would probably always cut, though perhaps less deeply, as time passed.


	18. Your methods for caging me

Sorry this is late, every one (no I haven't been holding out for more reviews), but hopefully the length makes up for it.

* * *

**_Chapter 18: Your methods for caging me_**

Anumi watched what happened carefully, trying to remain calm… but she _wasn't_ calm, and even though he looked it, neither was her husband.

Right now she was riding behind Kirilan, as he'd requested she do for their entrance to the mountains. She understood that—after all, an elf riding behind Legolas would draw a lot more attention than she was right now.

She saw him pass the note he'd had her write to a servant lad, asking it be delivered immediately. The elf bowed quickly and ran off. She knew what was in that note, knew the effect it would have upon her father—to whom the elf was now racing. It was her writing, naturally, so he would dismiss the lad and with an eagerness equal to uncertainty and fear, he would break the wax holding it folded over in a mock envelope. Then… confusion, uncertainty, fear, disbelief. Anger, perhaps, but that directed at Legolas for not doing as he'd said he would.

That much, at least, she could handle quickly. Legolas had kept his word almost _too_ well.

She was brought back from her swirling thoughts as hands fastened around her waist and lifted her from the horse. She smiled faintly. "Sorry."

"I quite understand," Kirilan smiled, more at ease than she. "Legolas looks just as cold as ever."

She snorted. "He's more upset than I," she countered, before sighing. "And I am quite upset, indeed."

"Honestly, it won't be so very bad."

"Won't be—Kirilan!"

He lifted a brow and led her out of the chaos that had been created in the entrance hall by their arrival, slipping behind a tapestry to a small door which he unlocked, locking it behind her.

"I'm never going to assume tapestries are merely decoration again," she muttered.

He laughed. "You shouldn't. Especially in this part of the mountain, as all halls lead to the royal wing—each set of rooms off of the main one has at least one and often as many as four different entrances. You'll get the keys to this one and the other four that lead to the main room, along with however many Legolas's rooms have. I know of two."

"Hmm. I know one."

He glanced at her sharply, before shaking his head slightly, dismissing any feeling he had of wanting to know…

"When I took care of Herita that night he left and the rest of you were gone, he led me there through a hidden hall."

He smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, Anumi," he said quietly, before unlocking another door, shifting a panel aside for her, locking it behind him again. The panel sprang back into place, a section of a mural that took up nearly half of the wall. When she looked around, he half-smiled. "I'd show you, but I expect we're running late as it is."

"Probably," she agreed. "Though I don't suppose that really matters."

He glanced at her, then looked ahead as he led her out of the royal wing through the main doors, startling the guards posted there. "Can you tell what's going on?"

She slowly shook her head. "I know he's probably with Thranduil, but I can't say for sure that—" she stilled when a tidal wave of emotions crashed over her. She swallowed tightly. "My father has arrived."

"Then perhaps we should hurry, eh?" he asked, picking up his pace.

They entered the room despite a slight protest from an exiting servant who'd clearly been sent for something—drinks, maybe. Perhaps a meal as they'd traveled so long. The poor elf was very pale, and Kirilan and Anumi shared worried glances before moving across to the private study just beyond. As Anumi touched the door Kirilan stilled, shook his head, and backed up a step.

"Kirilan?"

"I've no call to be there," he said softly. "You, however, have no time to argue," he added when she opened her mouth.

She could feel the anger building in the room just beyond her fingertips, so she nodded sharply and bit her lip, steeling herself.

She pushed the cloak's sheltering hood back just before opening the door, slipping through to see Legolas looking almost blankly ahead, both fathers… well, not _happy_. From the glare he was being given from her father, he might have ignited had be been not been made of much sterner stuff. Still, _she_ quailed under the look he sent her, which snapped Legolas back from whatever absent place he'd sent himself to await her… ostensibly to await their vittles.

He was up from his chair and protectively before her in an instant, his eyes dark and again alive with everything she'd been feeling. He'd held back the fight until she arrived, but couldn't, any longer, and was resigned and prepared to defend.

"Anumi, why have you returned?" Cabrical focused on her.

She took a deep breath. "Because this is home."

"It is no longer healthy for you to be here. Why else would I have…" he broke off, his grey eyes pained as he looked away.

"I will be fine, Father," she insisted.

"You won't! If you would have been fine, staying here, I would never have let you go—"

"Let me go?" she asked, anger not only from her making her eyes flash. Whether her anger or his was greater, she didn't spend time considering. She loosed her tongue instead. "You held me here until it would have killed me, and then _forced_ me to go!" As soon as she stopped speaking, she glared at Legolas, suspecting he was wearing off on her… and not in a good way.

He smiled very, _very_ faintly, and lifted his hand, but dropped it back again without touching her. As the abbreviated movement had been behind her back, no one else noticed.

"A-Anumi?" Cabrical stuttered, visibly upset. He turned to the elf Anumi hadn't noticed until then.

She shivered and drew back, Legolas's hand soon resting lightly against the small of her back, his curiosity touching her mind—but briefly.

Dalidan moved forward, just as imperious as ever he had been. He was a great healer, and very well learned, but not so well liked. She hated him, despised him, and always shuddered at his touch—at least internally if she managed to suppress the outward sign.

But he'd saved her father's life once upon a time, when others had given up, so she endured his presence in her life as the sole healer to her family…

His grey eyes studied her carefully, a fine golden brow lifting in some surprise. "She positively shines. She's aflame as she's never been before." His eyes flicked to her father before considering her a moment longer, then flittering to Legolas's impassive face. "Whatever care she received in Imladris must have been quite wondrous. I should like to learn more."

"It is not for you to know," Legolas said, his voice utterly cold. Kirilan called him cold on occasion plentiful enough, but that was meant to convey a complete and utter lack of visible or audible emotion. Now, with watchful eyes upon this healer, his distrust and dislike froze both eyes and words. "Leave us."

Dalidan quirked that brow slightly again, and gave the prince a once over before doing the same to her. Her insides chilled when he noted from this scant distance the hand yet placed comfortingly on her back, his eyes narrowing. "Hm," he mused, his tones oily. "I see the reason now, Prince Legolas."

"Well, your eyes work," Legolas said, fury softening his voice. "What of your ears? Leave us!" He snapped the last with so much command Anumi saw her _father_ flinch. Thranduil looked rather surprised at the vehemence as well, but as Dalidan took his time, she felt the elf beside her gathering to do more, and projected what calm she could into him, making him glance at her briefly.

Dalidan slipped out as a servant arrived, setting a large tray down on the table before departing quickly.

Anumi was amazed to find she was a little hungry, so she didn't protest Legolas's soft nudge. She dished herself a bowl of the soup and picked up a bit of bread, settling herself in one of the plush chairs set around the low table.

The others took some for themselves, though her nibbling was all that came of it.

She was aware of her father's study, but more aware of Legolas's emotions as he stared down into his soup. He was simply waiting.

"Anumi… are you truly well?"

"I am," she agreed, looking up.

Cabrical studied her, before frowning. "How… how?"

She looked away, swallowing hard. "It comes from an oath, from a promise. Legolas swore to see me safely to Imladris, and that he has done."

"He wasn't to bring you _back_!"

"He hadn't really a choice, Father!" she snapped, turning sharply. "He could not stay there!"

"Anumi!" Legolas interjected sharply, looking up.

She bit her lip and calmed herself, but the damage was done. She'd thought perhaps a thousand times about how to explain this, and every time she'd warned herself not to get ahead of herself…

Cabrical looked between them. "It is odd for your tongue to be held, Prince Legolas."

She felt him flinch, though he didn't physically do so.

"There are times in which to be silent, Lord Cabrical," Legolas retorted, lifting dark eyes to studious grey ones.

"I'm beginning to think this is not one."

She watched them stare at each other, and finally looked at Thranduil, who smiled gently at her. She found herself smiling back, relieved someone seemed calm. He looked at them for a moment, and then settled himself so he was facing her, ignoring the other elves who were still caught in their contest of wills. "What happened?" he asked, sounding at once polite, comforting, and _very_ mildly amused.

She found ignoring the others nearly impossible, but it was nice to try, and focusing intently upon the King was a good distraction. "When we were almost out of the wood we were attacked—by spiders in the trees, and orcs on the ground. I've no idea how many there were, but enough that even with all the arrows and with how wonderfully efficient Brehurin and Legolas are with them, they made but a slight dent in the numbers around us. I… don't remember well, what happened. Legolas called for me to come to him, so he could better guard me, and I made it with only a scratch or two. He was putting me on his horse when more orcs came, this group with two archers. I felt a jolt of pain, searing pain unlike anything I'd ever imagined, and a duller one that was still quite sharp. Legolas fell against me, and I could see two arrows in his back. His horse was shot, screamed and quivered. Then Legolas moved away, saying something I couldn't hear. I felt another burning pain and then the world was a blur, which faded away after I saw the dawn was coming."

Thranduil looked sharply to his son. Then he closed his eyes, letting out a short breath. "You were shot twice, and I received no word?"

"Four times," Legolas countered blandly. "Kirilan's wound was more grievous—his arrow was poisoned… as were two of Anumi's, and the one that struck Brehurin."

Thranduil looked at him darkly. "_Both_ of my sons were badly injured, and no one saw fit to inform me?"

"We had no one to spare, Da, and no reason to by the time we could have. Pascail was the only one uninjured, and he wouldn't have left us even if _you_ had ordered him to do so. All injuries were healed by the time we arrived in Imladris. The orcs were destroyed—there was no need to tell you then, when you would worry as you won't now, as you can see with your own eyes that we are all well."

Thranduil sighed, shook his head briefly, and then turned to Anumi. "What happened next?"

She hesitated. "I… I had one clear moment, in which I knew that I would die. The next I know I'm waking, wondering what happened."

"How badly _was_ everyone hurt?" Thranduil frowned at his eldest.

Legolas exhaled slowly. "Brehurin's wounds were mostly minor, save that one poisoned arrow. It _somehow_ managed to miss most things, so he was mainly healing muscle once the poison was cleansed. Kirilan was shot in the back, poisoned, and hit over the head with a shield. Either was bad enough to cause worry, and we did worry, for more than a day. My own injuries…" He shrugged. "I had an arrow through my thigh, my arm, my abdomen, and one stuck in my back—that one not deep, though the other three went through. None were poisoned. I had a few minor cuts and bruises as well, but nothing beyond the arrows that I would have treated. Pascail wasn't too worried about me, considering the poison in his other patients. Anumi… was shot in the abdomen, shoulder, and leg, the one in her abdomen being the worst, the other two poisoned. Though she doesn't recall it, one orc did get close enough to land a hit upon her before I brought him down—she also had a cut on her leg, as her 'support' jerked backwards, pulling her along so that was only as bad as it was. Still, Pascail was quite worried, and ever cautious in her chances. After Kirilan woke, he admitted she would not live. Though she'd been fighting, her wounds were too serious for even a strong, healthy elf to survive without great desire to do so… and she was neither strong, nor healthy, though she'd chosen life."

Navy eyes moved from Prince to Lady, and wondered. "Then how does she sit before me, if all declare she should be dead?"

Anumi closed her eyes. "Pascail told them there was one way I could make it—to use the healing of another."

"That's what healing _is_, when done well. Wasn't he able to help?"

"Not enough. He'd already drained himself beyond what he should have—he was weakened nearly all the way to Imladris." Legolas swallowed. "To heal her, one would have to bind himself to her." They all noticed he wasn't looking at anyone, and seemed unlikely to do so. "Pascail has long been bound, and Brehurin began the process just before we left. Kirilan was barely alive as it was… and _I_ was the one to swear she would reach Imladris, as long as there was life within me."

Slowly, Anumi dared look at her father.

He was pale, his eyes shadowed, and he now braced his arms on his knees, hands covering his mouth. He watched Legolas intently, and then looked at her, looking her over as if he'd never seen her before. Then he shook himself, and she could see his concern. "Are you… truly well?" he asked softly.

She knew everything inherent in that question. Was she alright? Did she accept this? Did she understand everything it meant? Did she want to go on this way? She smiled faintly. "We've had our moments," she mused, glancing at Legolas, whose ears went faintly red as he looked away, "but we are learning, adjusting. It is not something either expected or wanted, so it will take a while."

"It is also not something we intend any in the wood beyond those present at the time or those in the room now to know," Legolas added, some ease slipping into his shoulders as the worst was out of the way. "I will not stand for any deriding the bond between us because of its reason for being. It is…"

"Very strong," she finished. She looked at her father again, and smiled weakly. "We share emotions—both interesting and frustrating. As is feeling how terribly uncomfortable that chair is!" she added, scowling.

Legolas laughed, and shook his head slightly, before pulling his legs up into the chair, making both himself seem smaller and making the chair seem much more comfortable. "Better?" he teased.

"Mm-hmm."

"Your bond must indeed be strong. It is rare enough for those bound for centuries to feel their mate physically." Thranduil smiled at her again, seeming pleased enough. "Well, Princess, when shall we celebrate this joining?"

She looked down at her soup, and set it aside. "Sire, I—"

"Ah-ah!"

She laughed. "Thranduil," she inclined her head. "I think you and Legolas should discuss that and anything else you wish to, as I speak with my father." She felt Legolas's amusement, and had a feeling his talk would be far easier than her own.

Still, he and Thranduil inclined their heads in agreement and left the room, leaving her alone with her father.

Silence.

A long, weary sigh. "Has he hurt you?"

She nodded. "Yes, he has." She lifted her eyes, pinning him in place and the curse on his tongue. "As I have hurt him."

"You? You wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Wouldn't I? I hurt you, earlier."

He frowned. "That was… unusual."

"Mm. I felt his anger, along with my own. He does not approve of your methods for caging me." She smiled faintly, looking away. "Or perhaps merely that I was caged, methods be damned." After a moment, something flared in her, and she looked at him once more. "I know you loved her, and I know you love me. But she couldn't be caged and live. She loved you so she stayed, leaving only to die."

He didn't flinch, confirming her long-held belief that he'd known, just as she had.

"I would have done the same… but you thought to spare me, when you knew it might be too late. You spared me. He saved me. I am more myself today than I have been since she left, Father. Even at the cost of the bumps and bruises we shall have, stumbling along this marriage we didn't anticipate, I would not change that. I'm too alive now, though I said often enough then that they should have let me die, rather than chain me to one who didn't want me."

"You don't believe that now? That it would be better to be dead than stuck forever with one who doesn't wish to have you with him?"

She let out her breath, and slowly shrugged one shoulder. "Legolas and I are…" She paused, and frowned, before lifting her chin. "Actually, not any of your business. We are content, and that shall be enough. Perhaps some day we will be happy, but we are hardly miserable—that would be self-destructive, as would be trying to ignore each other. The bond is too deep for that." She got to her feet, nodded at him, and left the room, intending to find her husband.

He was waiting, eyes on the door, leaning back against the desk Thranduil was seated behind. He quirked a brow.

She smiled faintly, but when he lifted his hand to her, she moved across the room, twining her fingers into the offered hand, dropping her forehead to his shoulder.

Legolas smiled slightly to feel her relax, _finally_. Of course, he'd been worse than she, worrying about her father's reaction… worried about losing what respect the elf had for him. His own father—well, he was used to surprises, and took everything in stride. There'd been no need for discussion, for private argument. He'd asked simply if he was happy.

He wasn't _unhappy_, and he'd say content without a doubt… but things were still too new to consider more deeply than that. His father had nodded, and suggested they simply make the summer solstice celebration longer, throwing their binding in amidst the revelry.

The Wood would know before then, naturally, as they'd be announced at the feast to welcome them back, but the official celebration could wait, and _would_, as preparations on such a scale took some time.

"When?" she asked simply.

"Solstice. A four day celebration instead of the normal two."

"Hmm."

He smiled faintly and kissed her crown, stilling when his eyes met Cabrical's as he looked up.

Cabrical looked uneasy, unsettled, and Legolas understood. He looked at his father, who naturally had noted the exchange.

"Anumi, might I offer myself as guide to the ins and outs of the royal wing? I have keys, as well, though more shall be forged from Legolas's for his chambers."

"I'd be delighted," she said after a moment, looking up at Legolas.

He smiled ruefully, but released her, watching her walk out on his father's arm.

"She said that you hurt her," was the first thing Cabrical said, even before the door was fully closed.

"I did," he agreed. "And she has forgiven me for that, though she has not forgotten."

Cabrical slowly closed his eyes, reminding himself that this wasn't just some elf who'd happened to be around. This was _Prince Legolas_, and he was formidable. He also shouldn't have expected—as he had—the protest that she'd hurt him, too. That was far beneath the prince. He let out a measured breath, and looked again at the young elf he'd taught so many things.

Legolas was looking back steadily, sympathetically. "I know… this isn't what you expected."

Cabrical snorted. "No one expected it," he said wryly. He studied the navy eyes for a long time, and the Prince allowed it, not looking away. "Of all the elves I know in this Wood, I trust you most. I do hope that isn't misguided."

Legolas bowed slightly. "As do I."

Cabrical nodded, and then smiled faintly. "The Wood has been well."

A flicker of a frown touched Legolas's face, making Cabrical more attentive, when he'd only just relaxed. "I'm sure it has… about that… I think perhaps we should talk."

It took Cabrical a moment, but when he caught on, a true smile turned his lips. "It is a duty I would enjoy, especially knowing it would keep her at ease."

A slight tension left Legolas's shoulders. He inclined his head sharply. "No doubt I shall still be needed, time to time, but for the most part… it is yours. Deal with it well, Cabrical. I do not like to worry her, though it seems a habit she cannot help," he added dryly. "Even now she worries about this time we've spent."

"Then you'd best go, and give her peace."

The Prince half-smiled and was almost out the door when he looked back. "The celebration shall be an extension of the summer solstice. The announcement will be made at the feast tomorrow night."

Cabrical nodded. "I shall be there."

With a nod, the Prince left.


	19. Perfectly dramatic

**_Chapter 19: Perfectly dramatic _**

Anumi nearly laughed at the shock on Nana's face, but touched her lips with her forefinger to plead silence. She remained mostly hidden from sight within the shadows of the archway that led to the room the children were playing in today.

Nana nodded slightly, and looked sharply back to Herita, who was obediently ignoring the rock wall. Nana relaxed, studiously ignoring the door.

Anumi took a long moment to study the little ones, seeing how much change had been wrought in the youngest in the short seasons she'd been gone. The older ones showed no obvious change, save the lack of one who now roamed the halls in duties and responsibilities, rather than mischievous play.

"Lady Anumi?" a soft voice behind her asked, the lad in question appearing at her elbow.

She smiled and inclined her head slightly. "Yes."

"You've returned," he said softly, barely controlled emotions threading through his voice.

She laughed. "You aren't too old," she chided, turning to him.

A hesitant move forward was stilled.

She shook her head at how quickly he'd become accustomed to checking his natural responses and hugged him, closing her eyes as he buried his face in her neck, giving up on the propriety he'd been forced to keep. "How are you, Andun?" she asked, stroking his dark gold hair.

He sighed and half-shrugged, still not moving. His voice was muffled by her shoulder. "Adult."

She smiled at the sighing resignation. "Not everything you thought it was?" she teased gently.

"No," he agreed. "It was interesting for a little while, but it's also rather dull."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm a runner, right now. Some of the elder messengers feel ready to retire and switch professions, so I might get to move on to messages, but I'm not that excited."

"Hmm," she mused, thinking.

A sudden flare of upset made her turn.

Her husband bore down upon them in the hallway, his eyes dark.

She quirked a curious brow, but squeezed the lad before releasing him. "What would you rather do, then, if not a runner or messenger?"

"Oh, it's alright," he insisted a bit sheepishly. "Sorry, Anumi, I didn't mean to complain."

"And I didn't mean to reprimand. What would you rather do?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked into the room they were just beyond, before shrugging. "I'd like to be of actual use. Anyone can fetch someone water, or pen and paper."

"Or perhaps you'd rather have a single family to run for?" she suggested.

He flushed. "I'd have a better chance becoming a messenger. I'm too young—"

"I'd rather expect your youth would be a boon. You can be trained to that family's preferences, instead of being untrained and then trained again."

He smiled faintly. "But there's none who'd have me. The messengers move on to other jobs, runners become messengers. Almost never are they taken for a family, because the high families almost never take on new help. They've no need."

She glanced at Legolas, who inclined his head slightly. "How discrete can you be, Andun?"

He looked at her curiously, before first noticing the Prince. He bowed belatedly, waved up with a muted gesture. "You should know, Lady Anumi."

She looked at Legolas, who took over at that silent plea. "She is not a Lady, lad."

Andun blinked, looked between them, and settled confused grey eyes on Legolas. "Your highness?"

"She is not a Lady. She is a Princess." He looked to her. "Cabrical will join us at the feast. Ada is ordering the rearrangement of the table for the occasion… though it will be up to the two of you if his place remains there after the celebration or not."

"I can't imagine he'd wish to remain there, save when he must."

"I couldn't either, but I thought it best I leave the choice to the two of you."

She smiled mischievously. "Undoubtedly wise."

Legolas smiled faintly and looked into the room beyond them. "Does Nana know?"

"No. I haven't entered the room yet. Herita's talked Odrune into letting her hair be cut."

Andun half-smiled.

"What?" Anumi asked.

He winced, not having been meant for anyone to notice. "She didn't talk her into anything, La… Princess. She was playing too close to the bonfire and singed a good bit of it. It was cut nearly above her shoulders to even it out." He glanced at Legolas, and then bowed, before starting to leave when he hesitated.

"Yes?"

"If it isn't too bold, Princess… to which Prince are you wed?"

"That is rather bold," Legolas mused. "But consider the evidence before you—which Prince tracked her down to discuss the official minutia concerned with the binding?"

"The eldest, whose duty it may be considered."

Legolas eyed the lad for a moment. "You're dismissed."

Andun bowed before leaving.

Anumi glanced up at Legolas, who was watching his niece from the safety of the shadows beyond the room. He soon looked down, and smiled faintly before reaching up to pull her hood from her head, smoothing her hair when done. "If your change in titles is unknown before the feast, as it should be, you may offer him a place."

She gave him a grateful smile, before looking out at the children in some concern. "Should I even be seen until the feast?"

He considered for a long moment, before shrugging and offering his arm. "Not by the children, at any rate," he mused as she hooked her hand over it. "Elder elves may know it would be impolite to discuss the change of plans."

"May know," she agreed.

He chuckled. "But wouldn't care? Hmm."

She laughed. "It's odd to feel you be more relaxed here, where things are more dangerous, than you were there."

"This is home," he shrugged. He stopped a moment later, and looked solemnly at her.

She sighed, and half-shrugged, looking away.

"Not _your_ home," he mused. "Home is where the heart is?"

"Then my home is in that room of rocks."

She watched his head tilt curiously to the side, and felt a frisson of affection that startled them both. She flushed slightly, her ears heating beneath her hair.

He smiled faintly and moved forward, cool fingers gliding briefly across her cheek, leaving sensation for several seconds after they left. After replacing her hood to hide her hair and eyes from sight of passing elves, he tipped his head a bit, kissing her brow. "Perhaps I can convince you yet that you do belong here," he said softly, offering his arm again.

She smiled ruefully, accepting the arm with a small sigh. "And what good will that do? Elves are heading West."

"Very slowly. I do not believe all will go. Some will always remain."

She said nothing.

He smiled. "You do not believe me."

"I find it very hard to believe that those who would remain would remain… as elves."

A sharp look was interrupted as several of the hall ladies approached in their usual flock of long glittery gowns.

Margil, naturally, was the first to notice the princely approach. "Oh, Prince Legolas! You've returned at long last!"

He quirked a brow. "Long?" he questioned calmly. "I've not even been gone half a year. Patrols sometimes venture into the wood for nearly as long as was spent in Imladris. And that elven realm has many… _beautiful_ things. And elves," he added.

Anumi bit her lip at his pauses. Perfectly dramatic.

Margil looked like she'd bitten into something rather unpleasant, but knew she couldn't spit. "Oh? Surely you do not plan to leave us for the wonders of the Last Homely House?"

"How could a Prince abandon his throne? No, this is my home."

Margil now noticed Anumi, though as she'd been dressed by the seamstress of high recommendation in Imladris—namely by both Glorfindel and Elladan—that she was of Mirkwood was never considered. "We've a visitor?" she asked, smiling politely, her bright eyes chilling, as although her face was hidden, Anumi's gender was not.

"You haven't, no," Legolas countered.

Anumi bit her lip again.

"But you'll have to excuse us," he continued. "It was a long trip and we've barely arrived. I have not even seen my sister, nor ordered rooms prepared." He nodded curtly and moved past them, ducking through a passage he swiftly unlocked and then locked again.

Anumi noticed his movements, this time.

He held out the keys in his hand, and motioned for her to go first. She paused at the door, but noticed as she looked at the keys that the intricate carvings upon the door were captured at a single point upon one of the keys in her hand.

"Not the most secure method, should they fall out of our hands," he mused, but shrugged.

A long moment after they had reached the main room of the royal wing, Anumi gave in and laughed, shaking her head. "You are rather horrible."

He blinked. "What?"

"To Lady Margil."

He rolled his eyes and relaxed back into the chair he favored. "She has been far too forward for far too many centuries for me to believe being a little short with her will be in any way offensive to her."

"Perhaps it is still offensive."

"And yet she pursues me?" He shrugged, closing his eyes as he leaned back, soon giving up to curl entirely in the large chair. "We shall see. If her attitude changes after the feast, I may be nicer."

"Speaking of being nicer," she drawled, approaching him to better see his face. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't get so easily riled up when I'm touched."

"I caught you embracing another male," he mused.

"Hmm. But the bond wasn't protesting, surely?"

Slowly he shook his head.

"And yet, you were."

His eyes slit open, his hand snapping out so quickly even her squeak was delayed before she was against his chest, her legs curled outside of his. "You are mine," he said softly.

"Are you mine, as well?" she asked, feeling a bit unsettled.

He smiled faintly and his eyes drifted lazily shut.

His relief at returning had been spreading through her as well, in form of a lethargic contentment that drained her will to move far more surely than had any lingering weariness from the long trip through the dark paths of the forest.

She found herself echoing his smile as she softened, her head drifting down to its customary place on his shoulder. He tilted his head, his cheek resting atop her hair, his arms shifting to hold her more gently.

His hair brushed her fingertips, her fingers curling in the silver-gold locks. She was half to dreams when the main doors opened, and Herita bounded in, stopping for a second when she saw them before flying to their side.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, laying her hands over Legolas's arm as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

He smiled faintly, and inclined his head. "Clearly."

Herita then took her smiling gaze and turned curiously upon Anumi. She looked back at her dear uncle with a concerned frown. "Why are you holding Anumi?"

"Because—"

"Oh, Legolas, there you are. What do you suppose—" Odrune stopped. Stopped walking, stopped talking, stopped moving her mouth.

A sudden inhalation as she snapped her jaw shut suggested she'd stopped breathing.

"What's the matter?" Toriad asked, frowning as he made his way into the room. "Odrune?" he looked up from the message he'd been reading. He took in the pair and came to a stop beside his wife. "What of Kirilan, then?" he asked after a fair silence.

Legolas grimaced slightly, but sighed. "He has been dealing with this."

Slowly, Toriad nodded. "When shall it be announced?"

"Tomorrow night, at the feast. The official celebration shall lengthen the solstice."

"Celebration?" Odrune asked faintly.

Toriad smiled and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. "You've a sister, love, and you, my dear," he moved forward and stroked Herita's hair, "have an aunt."

"I do?" Herita asked, eyes wide. She turned to her father, clasping her hands tightly before her as she resumed her excited bounce. "Who?"

"Anumi," Toriad told her, motioning at the couple behind her. "She and your uncle have bound themselves."

Odrune's eyes were comically wide, but Herita spun around and promptly hugged them both, her shrill 'yay!' ringing uncomfortably down the tips of their unfortunately close ears.

When released, Anumi looked up at Legolas in amusement, before stretching wearily.

He tilted his head at the door to his rooms.

"Dinner?"

"I'll ask something sent up. Go rest."

She smiled faintly and started to get up.

"Why'd you get married?" Herita was asking, standing still against them.

"Herita! Elves marry for love," Odrune scolded.

"But they didn't love each other when they left."

"Time changes many things," Toriad said quietly. "Now come, Herita. We're leaving for the great hall in a few minutes, and you haven't washed."

"But Uncle is here, and—"

"Go. They will be here tomorrow."

Herita heaved a sigh.

"And Herita? You may tell no one of this."

"What? But I—"

"No one may know until they are announced tomorrow night. After that you may tell anyone you like."

"Why?"

"It's tradition, sweetie," Anumi told her gently as she eased herself off of Legolas without forcing Herita to move. "Though if Legolas walks about with his hair so all will know."

Legolas absently reached up, tucking the cut lock behind his ear once more. "Perhaps I should cut it again before the announcement. It's rather grown."

She shrugged. "I've not heard of any cutting it twice…"

"There is generally no need."

She inclined her head. "True. Well, I certainly don't know. If Thranduil can't give an answer, choose a whim." She absently kissed his brow before sliding around Herita and making her way into his chambers.

She stood in that room, looking at the three doors that led to bedrooms uncertainly. One she thought of as Herita's. One was his.

Or was it theirs?

The door opened again behind her. "As you are no more hungry than I, I thought we could survive this meal off of the travel food I keep stored in here."

She inclined her head in agreement.

Arms slid around her waist, followed by a light kiss to her hair. "Take the room as yours for now. You are welcome with me, but a place of your own would not be remiss…"

She smiled faintly. "For when we fight."

He exhaled in an agreeing snort and drew her on through to his room, tilting his head curiously when she looked around, shock striking him. "What?"

"I'd forgotten how horribly many there were," she explained, her lip curling in disgust at the near solid mass of mirrors around them.

"How?"

"Well, I remembered, but I assumed I was exaggerating, so I always thought there were less than I remembered… and so there are more."

He chuckled softly and removed his boots and tunic, pulling back the covers and sliding under them before offering her an upraised arm.

She removed her cloak and then accepted, closing her eyes as the arm curled around her.


	20. A dagger cloaked in ice

Sorry I didn't get this up yesterday... but I tried at random times for six hours and it kept saying that it would be down for a half hour.

To those who leave me questions in reviews without either signing in or giving me an e-mail address--I'm not ignoring you, I simply have no way to reply that won't get my account frozen if someone reads this in a bad mood. I do have a forum (that no one's used in a while) where you could ask questions/see if anyone else has asked them already, but I think you have to be logged in there...

* * *

**_Chapter 20: A dagger cloaked in ice_**

Concern embraced her long before she felt him drawing nearer. She could feel his gaze almost as a touch until he stepped to her side, close without touching. He rested his hands lightly along the finely carved wooden rail that ran along the balcony to protect any exuberant children from the fall a slight miscalculation would provide.

She smiled faintly when he said nothing.

The reflection of a thousand crystals, of glasses incalculable filled with fluids, of mirrors twisting down the light of the stars filled the garden before them, making it beautiful, if ever and obviously unnatural.

Her arms tightened over her chest.

"Ask."

She turned her head slightly, and smiled when he didn't look at her. "You know me well," she mused, exhaling slowly.

"I aught to," he countered, a faint, fond amusement gaining a brief hold before his concern returned too persistently, a slow ache burning within them both.

She closed her eyes. "You reacted strongly to Dalidan."

A flicker of anger coiled through her from him. "Hmm," he agreed.

"Why?"

His eyes narrowed at the crystalline light closest to them, and she felt his emotions swell too swiftly to be felt as anything more than a hum—to her, anyway. "I have never liked him. He is too proud, he—"

"He who is not a prince?"

He rolled his head to look at her for a long, chilled moment before turning his gaze back to the garden of rock and glass. "I have always felt he believes himself above me, yes. And yes, it quite disturbed me for many years. But then I reached my first century, and such pettiness was beyond me."

She snorted.

He smiled ruefully after a moment spent trying to gather enough affront to put it into his voice. "You know me well," he mimicked her words mockingly. "Very well," he sighed. "I was able, then, to chose my healer, and would always take no healing to being healed by him. It was mostly a matter of pride on my part."

She frowned. "Was it?"

He glanced at her quickly, matching her frown as he looked away. "Anumi… You are being tight-lipped, and I can feel nothing more than a vague upset and nervousness. Speak, please. Perhaps then I can answer in such a way as you wish—whether for comfort or not."

Her gaze fell to the smooth pale stones blending together in a mosaic below them. "Was it really your pride, your sense that he didn't respect you as you are wont to be respected that made you avoid him?"

He leaned his weight on his forearms as he considered. She felt faint flickers of half-forgotten emotions, coupled suddenly with an uneasy discomfort so strong she was only surprised at how long he managed to refrain from straightening when he did so.

She wasn't a warrior of any sorts, but she would have drawn herself upright many heartbeats ago. Being in such a pose made one feel vulnerable, especially when aware there was opportunity around for hurt or danger.

She snorted when she realized—from sorting through his emotions—why he hadn't. "You'll not worry me so," she chided.

He turned at that, leaning back against the rail as he studied her. "You wanted confirmation," he realized, his eyes narrowing briefly. "To know he unsettled someone other than you, alone."

Slowly she nodded, and lifted her eyes to shadowed navy. "Does he?"

He checked her eyes, but she felt his answer well before he spoke. "Yes."

She nodded again, and turned her head away even as she stepped closer, wanting the comforting warmth and safety the bond always gave her with his proximity. The pleased hum thrummed to life when he touched her crossed arms lightly, his fingers skimming up her arm until it curled around her shoulder, bringing her close until their hips touched.

"He did unsettle me," he admitted. "He no longer does."

She looked up at him sharply, frowning. "But you…"

He leaned his head down, resting his brow to hers. "But I was unexpectedly harsh and sharp with him?" he mused. He brushed his cheek to hers as he looked back at the lights of the feast occurring mere yards from them. "You know better than I would probably allow myself to admit how the meeting was affecting me."

She smiled, inclining her head slightly.

He snorted at her agreeing amusement. "I was tense, tightly wound…"

"And more nervous than I'd suspect you've been in many, many centuries."

He held himself tense for a moment before inclining his head in an agreeing nod while he sighed. "Hmm," he murmured, fingers reaching up to wind in her hair. "I was starting to relax, enjoying seeing you stand up to the one who nearly killed you—" He swiftly moved his fingers to cover her lips when she felt the start of indignation that would have become a protest. "But then, I felt a dagger cloaked in ice force its way through your anger. I felt you shrink, waver, and fail. You withdrew and…" he grimaced. "It felt like you went from being the defiant elf I'd grown comfortable with to a mere child in seconds. A _scared_ child. It…"

Though words failed him, his feelings gave him away when they passed to her. She felt his confusion and bewilderment, followed by cold fury. She uncrossed her arms, nodding to show she understood as she rested one hand lightly on the center of his chest.

He closed his eyes. "It was because of _him_. I'd never liked him, and then he was somehow hurting you. I was curious about the reason, but only briefly. After that, I was merely reacting… add that over about ten times, and you'll know why Pascail was giving me the tea while you had yet to awake."

She smiled faintly, resting her head upon his shoulder, seeking to soothe him.

He shifted, bracing himself more firmly with legs spread enough for her to stand between them as he drew her to his chest. He kissed her jaw.

"Why bring it up now?"

She chuckled softly when he gave in to the curiosity that had been nudging at him since his silence.

He merely pinned her a look and repeated himself when she quieted.

She looked away, a chill working through her when by silence she had to consider his question.

He swiftly caught her chin in his hand, turning her head back. He searched the bond, her eyes, but soon gave up with a small frown. "What has he done to so affect you?"

She shuddered. "Nothing… I… I just can't stand being near him. He makes my skin crawl. I think I'd feel more comfortable standing next to an orc, sometimes." Her eyes flicked to his so quickly she nearly missed seeing them. "Would you promise me something, Legolas?"

"Perhaps," he agreed.

"Promise me that if ever I'm in need of a healer, it won't be him." When she felt his hesitance, she snapped her eyes to plead with his. "Please!"

Slowly he shook his head. "I can't. I _shan't_." He caught her arms when she would have pulled away. "I won't promise you something like that—something I may have to break. I despise him, but he is a good healer. He has saved many lives believed lost by the other healers… even by Pascail. I will not promise to let you die rather than have you treated by him… but I will promise I will exhaust other options, first. He will not be sent for, save when there is no other hope, nor allowed within our chambers, the same. This I swear, upon my blood."

She grimaced. "I've had enough of your oaths for a while, Legolas. Your word was enough." Her hand lifted on its own to brush the cut lock back behind his ear when his head lowered slightly. "Stop it," she warned.

He smiled wryly. "Stop what?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "I've had enough of you feeling guilty, upset, and so on and so on about our binding. It's over and done with. Get used to it." She smiled faintly. "Is it so terrible, being stuck with me?" she teased.

He snorted, closing his eyes as he straightened, kissing her temple. They'd gone over that often enough he didn't even need to reply aloud any longer. She felt it in the arm wrapped lightly around her waist, in the soft hum of contentment that welled up between them, merely because they were not only in close proximity, in contact, but because they were, however temporarily, at peace with each other.

They'd begun moving of the same accord back to the great hall, but as they'd begun moving, so they stopped. Legolas took a deep breath, even as the muscles of her shoulders and back tensed under his light hold.

She looked at the lights, at the dancing, at the free-flowing potent wine from the west that Thranduil had brought out of storage for the occasion. "It almost makes me wish your blood wasn't so strong."

"What?"

She smiled impishly at him. "Then I could claim still feeling the need for rest. As it is, I don't think I'll sleep until nearly morning. Your healing blood is actually rather annoying."

"So I sleep less than most?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"What, you thought everyone just wanted some quiet time to themselves in the middle of the night?"

He blinked, making her chuckle softly. He shook his head. "Most really sleep more than a few hours?"

"Nearly as much as humans," she agreed, hooking her arm around the one that had absently fallen from around her. "Though we don't _have_ to, it's quite a pleasant way to rest the body and refresh the mind."

He cocked his head inquisitively. "How long could you go without rest?"

She shrugged. "I've worked through the night a few times consecutively before, without resting through the day. Four, perhaps? But there was no pressing need to stay awake and aware. I'm sure if I was in a dangerous place, such as the wood near spiders, or threat of orcs, or some such, that I would be able and willing to remain awake much longer. Sleep isn't a pressing need…"

"Just something to do, to refresh," he finished. With a small shrug he moved closer to the light. "Well…" he frowned.

She quirked a brow and looked at him curiously when she felt a frisson of wicked amusement. "What?"

"It wouldn't be entirely out of the question for us to simply disappear before too much longer. It isn't something we may do often, but certainly we may tonight… once a few more dozen elves have been given the chance to flitter by with well-meaning or not so well-meaning good wishes and congratulations."

Anumi shuddered. "Oh, the looks on the ladies faces!"

He chuckled. "See, there was some good to the announcement."

She laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "Finding entertainment in the disappointment of others isn't really a very princely thing to do, is it?"

"Depends upon the type of prince you are, and the others in question. Perfectly alright, in this case."

"Oh, I see," she agreed, biting her tongue to keep from grinning.

She felt his amusement compound over her own, but another two steps forward and they were both solemn. He ran a hand through his loose hair, the cut bit sliding down against his cheek even as the rest settled over his shoulders, except for that one small short bit that would ever fall forward, wanted or not.

She reached up, gently brushing it aside with her fingers, letting them trail down his cheek once that small task was finished to her satisfaction.

They both heard a few whispers from the elves near enough to notice them, which made her ears flush even as a small smile turned his lips. She lifted her eyes to his when a large hand covered her cheek, fingers twining in her hair. His amusement coiled tangibly within her, especially when the whispers resumed more fervently after he tilted his head down beside hers, bringing their cheeks together.

"Or perhaps," he mused too quietly for any of their avid audience to hear, "we could sneak out now and let the gossips do the rest."

He chuckled when she perked up hopefully.

He nodded at her questioning look, and brought her fingers to his lips before curling them around his arm. Without the slightest glance at the elves around them, he looked through the milling servers and dancers until he spotted his father, who soon glanced their way.

The King, with a faint smile, inclined his head.

"We're free," Legolas told her, drawing her out of the great hall.

"He just looked at you. What, were you two talking in minds?"

He glanced at her, before snorting. "Hardly. Neither of us has that… gift. He inclined his head slightly, and no doubt had seen us both leave and reappear. Added to knowing how little I like sitting around, and how much you preferred clinging to your anonymity, it was pretty obvious why I was seeking his approval."

She made a small noise of understanding and slipped her hand down his arm, twining their fingers. "Do I get a tour of all the tapestries that don't cover wall someday soon?" she asked, when he moved one aside.

He smiled faintly. "I'll try. While we'll be more or less left alone the next few days, if we're discovered running about the place they'll expect me to hold a council with all of the advisors and commanders to learn what has happened in my absence. I'd rather hold that off a few days. After that meeting, should I fail to die of boredom or utter exasperation, it should be simple enough. When others are asleep would be best, as we prefer their existence left unknown, even if always locked."

With a nod she smothered a yawn and sucked in a breath when she tripped over something.

"Sorry," he whispered, picking up the quiver and gathering the spilt arrows.

It would still take some getting used to. She took a deep breath, and touched his arm lightly, making him still for a moment.

He resumed reorganizing his weapons slowly, turning his head once done to offer her a sad smile.


	21. Rather like a wild thing

**_Chapter 21: Rather like a wild thing _**

Cabrical frowned at hearing a noise from within his daughter's rooms. He slowed, tilting his head so the sounds filtered through more easily, his hair now away from his better ear.

A noise of anger made him stop, though he had planned to walk on by and double back later after nonchalantly listening in as he passed.

He knew that noise.

It had been centuries since he'd heard it, but he still knew it.

Without bothering to knock he entered the rooms, rather thankful the door was unlocked. She was very good about keeping doors locked, stonily silent on the other side in her anger or frustration.

Not today, oddly enough.

Or perhaps not so oddly, as the rooms were not really hers, any longer. He'd kept them when she went to Imladris, partly so he didn't have to worry about storing her things until he could take them to her, but mostly so he would still have an area that felt like her.

It had become his refuge, of sorts, much as it had been when she still lived within them.

She looked at him with sharp fury when he entered, her eyes ready to flay alive the elf foolish enough to disturb her.

Slowly, she closed her mouth, her lips tightening as she looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. "I doubt this shall be a peaceful atmosphere for reading," she said at last, her words coming sharply, though not so sharply he felt she was angry with him.

He set the book he'd been carrying aside, slowly easing himself into a chair. Slow movements were best—she was rather like a wild thing in her most furious angers. She would pace, growl, clench her hands into fists or claws, and was known, at times, to throw things.

Which was probably why she usually locked the door before giving in to the anger.

She looked at him, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes surprising him. "And yet you stay?" she asked mockingly.

"Why so angry?" he countered softly.

"It doesn't really concern you anymore, does it?" she asked. "I am not yours, I am his."

The last word was a hiss, and he knew the cause of her anger. "And where is the Prince? Should he not be here, calming you?"

"And if I don't want to be calmed?" she growled, beginning to pace, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Why not? To be calm is the natural state of things."

She snorted derisively. "I _shall not_ be calm! I refuse!"

He frowned. This wasn't like her, to hold onto her anger for the sake of _being_ angry… "Why not?"

"I shan't give him that inch. He… He…" Another inarticulate noise of anger. Her fingers flexed before forming even tighter fists which she brought to her chest. She wavered for an instant, and then her eyes lit again with a flame of rage and she resumed pacing.

That instant worried him far more than her anger had. "Anumi?" he asked sharply, annoyed but unsurprised when she ignored him. "Where is Legolas?"

She snorted, shaking her head.

"Anumi!" He rose, unconsciously trying to remind her who he was, that he commanded respect—her respect.

Her eyes met his, and the dark fury in them made him falter. Because he'd been so very wrong, before. Some of that anger was aimed at him. Her eyes met his with utter and obvious defiance, her head cocked so her chin was belligerent, her stance denying him utterly.

He was her Father, he was a Lord.

She was a Princess… and she was more than a little angry.

He eased his shoulders, his back, and looked aside. "What has he done, to so anger you?"

"Nothing for you to know," she countered. "Though you're assuming a lot—that he's done anything."

"I know this is caused by him."

"Not by him alone," she snapped, and he looked away once more.

"I don't know what I've done to anger you, but I offer my apologies, Princess," he bowed to her.

Her face and eyes were blank when he looked up, and he realized with an internal sigh of relief that his formality had reminded her forcibly that he was still her father, though she was a princess, now.

To his horror and shock, a moment later she crumpled, tears falling as water from a spilt glass as sobs wracked her slender form. She covered her mouth with shaking hands, slowly sinking towards the ground.

He caught her, pulling her over to the couch, pushing her down as she cried.

She was inconsolable.

She wept so bitterly and overwhelmingly he doubted she even noticed when he left, intending to hunt down her blasted husband and knock some sense into him before dragging him back to her side by his scruff, if need be.

His impotent rage at finding himself unable to offer her even a shadow of comfort for the first time since her mother's departure held him steady as place after place and elf after elf failed to reveal the menace of an elf who had so affected his little girl.

Still, when the night had by far fallen, and he still had found no sign of the prince, he stopped, glaring into space as he tried to imagine another place for his elusive quarry to have hidden himself… And to wonder if it would be worth it at this point, as for all Cabrical knew, the prince had already found and soothed her.

"Rather an odd hour for you to be in this part of the mountain, isn't it, Lord Cabrical?"

He started, cursing Legolas again as he turned. He relaxed slightly upon recognizing the form in the shadows. "Is it?" he asked, some of his quest's tension yet known in his voice.

Dalidan tilted his head to the side. "What troubles you, my lord?"

Cabrical sighed, shaking his head. Suddenly he smiled ruefully. "I knew when she left for Imladris that I was losing her… I just never imagined I could lose her when she was before me."

"Ah," Dalidan smiled faintly. "Yes. Her binding." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Do you believe it?"

Cabrical frowned at him. "Believe what? That they are bound? I've seen ample proof of that."

"No, no," Dalidan shook his head, his voice mild. "That they wanted to be bound. Prince Legolas's unusually strong self-healing abilities are well known to the healers… and Princess Anumi's frailty is well known to me. It is not so much of a stretch of the imagination, considering they hadn't really known each other beyond names before the journey began, to consider it possible that something happened. Something that so struck at Anumi's delicate spirit that Pascail," his voice dripped disdain upon the other healer's name, "could do nothing. Or at least, not enough. As the Prince had given you his oath… Yes, I can well imagine he had to bind himself to her, to save her, and the lighter bonds would not have been enough."

"The how of it doesn't really matter, though, does it?" Cabrical countered, sighing.

"But it does. If theirs was not a true binding, if it has not been enforced—the bond may yet be broken."

"A bond cannot be broken!" Cabrical exclaimed, startled.

"It can, if they do not truly love each other, if they have not shared a kiss. It is difficult, and potentially painful… but how much more painful would it be to be bound to one you didn't love?" Dalidan asked softly, before offering a tight smile. "Forgive me, my lord, but I've a patient to see to. One of the guards thought it would be wise to try and capture a spider," he shook his head and moved on down the hall.

Cabrical looked after him for a long moment, wondering if the elf had any idea how terrible that blow had been.

His own wife had died, because she didn't love him. Not as she should have, at any rate. If she had…

She would be here, beside him, to help him know if he should tell Anumi that she may not have to remain Legolas's wife.

With how she'd been tonight, he would have raced back to her to tell her right away.

But it was just one night.

And he'd seen them come in from the balcony. He'd seen them wandering down corridors together, saying nothing and radiating contentment. He'd certainly been watching them closely when he was first told about this entire mess…

He'd seen two elves who were doing well, together. They behaved more closely than many couples who had _wanted_ to be bound.

"Cabrical?"

He turned his head slightly, having noticed this approach, though the elf was far more silent than the last.

Legolas tilted his head curiously, as Cabrical's eyes flared a moment before being masked.

Cabrical bowed his head sharply and left.

Legolas frowned after him, but continued where he was tugged, sighing when he found Anumi staring into space with glassy eyes that yet shed tears.

She woke when he started to lift her into his arms.

Woke, and pushed herself away, turning her head.

He felt like he'd been struck with a blade. The jagged cut made her flinch even as he winced, but she resolutely stared away.

A small noise escaped his throat, shocking them both with the pained neediness of it. She looked at him sharply, and would have jerked herself back around with her brows knit in a frown at her failure to remain steadfast, but was snared in his eyes before she could finish the move.

Something eased within them both as they studied each other.

Slowly she reached up, brushing his slightly crimped hair back, twisting it before tucking it behind his ear, hiding the evidence of braids let loose. "If you regret it…"

"I will still do it," he shook his head. "I… _need_ to be of aid to the wood, Anumi. It is the place I have chosen for myself—the only one I ever have or will likely ever be able to choose. I regret…" he closed his eyes. "I regret that it hurts you."

"Or that my hurt strikes you?" she asked sharply, getting to her feet.

He remained kneeling, but turned to watch her pace. "Your strikes at me hurt you equally," he countered, shaking his head. "You know the answer, and have you not been angry enough for one day?"

"It is no longer the day in which I was angry," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

He sighed. "Anumi…"

"You… you said you would seriously consider stopping."

"I did. In fact, I gave this task over to another…"

"But you still went. You left the mountain, left even the safety of numbers gained in your patrol, and you did so defiantly. I know I am but your wife in name, but could you not consider me when you think about placing yourself at such risk?"

He exhaled sharply. "Do you think I could consider anything else? Your anger and pain, then sorrow and despair have been eating at me since I left! I do not want to hurt you, but I need to get outside the mountain like you need to see the children. I can put it off, make it briefer than it used to be, but I cannot discard that part of me."

"Then do so with others, go—"

"It is not the same, it is insufficient. And it is out of the question," he added quietly. "I am bound now, or had you forgotten? I am no longer allowed out with a patrol, unless we march to a battle we need all available arms to face."

She knelt before him, watching him for a moment before biting her lip. "Are there no friends you could take along to help ensure your return?"

He smiled bitterly. "You know me better than any other alive, Anumi. You know the answer to that."

She shuddered, and looked away. "I don't understand it."

"You shouldn't."

"No," she shook her head. "I don't _believe_ it. I don't believe you could kill again and again without feeling it."

"I can and have."

"Orcs, certainly. Spiders. But elves? Could you face elves over your blades and go on and on, never looking back with regret?"

He looked at her with eyes both determined and fierce. "Yes," he told her.

She studied him intently and felt a flicker of fear when she found no sign he was hiding the truth, nor stretching it.

That flicker, though, broke the shield he'd kept around his heart, and she felt him shudder just before his head bowed. "No."

"But because you hide so well, you've fooled all who have trained you, who named you an assassin."

It was his turn to look slightly away from her searching gaze, even as he nodded slightly. "I am an assassin. I could perform even that task…"

"But when it was over, you would feel not only regret, but grief."

"Yes," he breathed. Silence fell for a long moment. He lifted his head suddenly, and held his hand out towards her. "But I shall never be in that situation."

"Never?" she asked. "Surely you would have said you would never bind yourself to an elf you didn't love?"

He smiled faintly. "Ah, but I have more control over this. I shan't be in the army unless I choose, and Da and I are the only ones to know my true rank among the assassins—and only three others know I was ever considered among them at all. If there comes a time when assassins are sent after elves in such a fashion, I shall remain behind."

She looked at him for a disbelieving moment, then quirked a brow wryly. "You can't remain behind to spare us both the pain of it. How could you possible do so when to go could be to save the Wood?"

"Because while it might save the Wood, it would destroy me. Da would lock me in the dungeons if it came down to it, to keep me here."

She considered that, and stifled a giggle—being quite able to see Thranduil doing just that. She put her hand into his, and smiled as he got to his feet, drawing her along.

"I shall go as rarely and briefly as I am able," he offered quietly.

She let out a long breath, and nodded. "And I shall do my best to trust in your rank and experience to lead you home."

He kissed her brow.


	22. Sprouted orc ears

**_Chapter 22: Sprouted orc ears _**

Legolas shook his head at the last of the commanders and advisors to leave, seeing their broad yawns and disgruntled looks around as they considered the hour.

"Do you even realize it's just an hour or so before dawn… again?" Kirilan asked after covering his own yawn delicately.

"Of course I do," Legolas frowned. "Being bored half to Mandos' does not mean my body no longer registers things such as that."

"Hmpf. You do leave one wondering. After all, it's been a week and a half of this—starting just after breakfast, working all the way through until nearly dawn. Eru, Legolas, what possessed you to do things this way?"

Legolas looked at a tapestry beyond Kirilan's head, and smiled ruefully. "Anumi," he admitted.

Kirilan's frank and tired gaze sharpened and then lowered. "Oh," he breathed, his lips tightening an instant before he looked up at his brother again. "What about her?"

After watching him an instant, it was deemed acceptable to speak on this tender matter, as Kirilan had finally come to accept the facts. Anumi would only ever be his sister. It might sting a bit, yet, but he wasn't going to let that sting come between him and his brother or his brother's wife.

Legolas rose to his feet in an elegant stretch, gathering the last of the many papers he'd accumulated since the annual reviews began. "She's been finding it difficult to adjust here—more so than she expected, and it's hurting her. She is comforted by my presence, which has been sorely lacking. As I could only be beside her when she slept, anyway, as these things run, I thought it might be best to get through this blasted time of year as quickly as possible."

"To offer her yourself for entire days, rather than partial nights more quickly."

Legolas inclined his head, and tucked the pages away in the appropriate drawer of a large desk near where he'd been sitting. Using his study was far more informal than usual, but considering how long he'd been asking the others to sit, he thought it more likely to limit grumbles if he at least gave them more comfortable chairs.

"What's been difficult for her?"

With a grimace, he shook his head. "I don't know."

Kirilan lifted a shocked brow.

He smiled ruefully. "Another reason for drawing things out—she's stubborn, and won't speak. I expect when I'm there to pester her more fully I'll learn the reason behind her tears."

"Her _tears_?" Kirilan repeated, looking horrified. "She's been crying?"

Legolas blinked. "Yes. Of course."

"Of _course_?" He stared as if Legolas's head had suddenly sprouted orc ears. "You're amazingly calm about this."

A snort. "Hardly. It's been the only thing keeping me awake."

Slowly, Kirilan shook his head. "I don't understand how you can be so calm about it, but I certainly won't detain you from confronting and comforting her." Then he scowled. "But next year, could we go back to the normal schedule? Although, using your study was rather a nice change."

"I'd consider it if Fieron hadn't dropped his lunch on my favorite rug."

"It'll be cleaned."

"Only because I gave orders about what type of food was to be served," Legolas countered blandly. "Had I not, it would be beyond saving."

"Then do the same."

Legolas lifted a stalling hand. "A lot may happen in a year, little brother. For all we know, I'm going to retire next month and leave this all to you." He left quickly, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at the horror on his brother's face.

His mirth died quickly as the distractions faded away the closer he drew to the royal wing, where his wife lay in quiet sorrowful misery.

This morn, as every one before it for the last several days, let him into their chambers to find faint signs of tears around her closed eyes.

Instead of removing his shirts and boots before sliding in beside her, he added his sword, long knife, and an older bow whose quiver he strapped to his thigh. The smallish arrows that went with it were securely pressed into the spongy wood lining the quiver's bottom, assuring they wouldn't fall out no matter what position he ended up in. He gathered their cloaks, securing his before digging up a pair of leggings. He then crouched beside the bed, lifting a lax hand from its dangling position to his lips. "Anumi."

Her head turned ever so slightly.

"Get up, Anumi," he called gently, using her hand to tug her until she slipped obediently into a sitting position. "Pull these on," he added, handing her the leggings.

She blinked sluggishly, yawned, and accepted the leggings with a blank look while he turned to find her boots. She almost never wore them, or any other sort of shoes, so he was expecting it to be a bit of a search.

Sure enough, he found them under the table that was covered with bits of material and which propped up several of his swords. When he returned to her side, she yawned again but didn't protest as he picked her feet up, pushing them into the oft discarded footwear.

She roused when he pulled her to her feet, shaking her head, awake enough to frown at him. "Where are you taking me that requires leggings and boots?" she asked, mystified.

He just smiled, twining their fingers.

She heaved an exasperated sigh but didn't protest, following him silently. She hesitated when they went through a door and were no longer in the mountain. "Legolas…"

"Trust me," was his soft reply. "Enjoy the air," he added, before wrapping her cloak around her shoulders.

She blinked at him as he fastened it to his liking, but followed again when he set off.

He stopped below the largest tree that faced out over the meadow that was within the time limit they had for what he had planned. "How well do you climb?" he asked.

She looked at him, affronted and offended. With a haughty snort, she scaled the tree with only slightly more effort than he used to follow. He passed the branch she'd paused on for one another height up, and dangled his fingers down to her, prompting her to join him.

Once they were both on the branch and the length of her nightshirt rearranged so it no longer hindered her, he turned her around so she was watching the meadow, her back to his chest. He drew his knees up around her, resting his wrists together on her lap.

After a few minutes, they'd both shifted enough to find a comfortable position they could hold for hours, if need be. Anumi glanced at him once, but didn't demand answers or even bother with the obvious questions. She simply sighed, tilted her head against his, and gazed out at the world beyond.

He kissed her temple when the sun began rising, making her blink the returning tendrils of sleep from her eyes.

He smiled faintly as her breath caught.

"A different sort of beauty, here, than in Imladris," he said quietly when the sunrise's brilliant colors had faded to the normal light of day.

"Without the mountains to block it. Or the wood…"

"Or being too distracted to really pay attention?" he teased softly.

She smiled, shifting herself down so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be preparing for those boring meetings?"

"No. I shan't have another for a while, and it's a year before they'll take more than part of a day, unless something unforeseen should happen." He sighed when she tensed slightly. "I have many things yet to show you, of Mirkwood."

"But you didn't bring me here merely to show me what the sunrise looks coming unhindered over the meadow."

"No," he admitted, tightening his hold when she moved. "I brought you here to get away from the halls, and whatever has been so upsetting you these last days."

She tensed slightly, but with their bond as it was, there was really no way to deny it. Doing so was pointless and dishonest. She relaxed into his hold with a sigh. "It's just… very different."

"Here instead of Imladris, or here as a princess?"

"Isn't that essentially the same?"

"Not necessarily… though I can certainly see why you would think so."

"It's just… people who never looked at me twice are following me around, and my friends won't look me in the eye."

He let out a hum, the deep tone rumbling under her ear. "Well… give your friends time, and ignore the others."

She was shocked for a moment, and then laughed. "I know," she agreed. "But it still…"

"Hurts."

She nodded. "To be treated so differently, when I am no different."

"You are a bit different, I'd imagine."

"Your healing blood?"

"And your strength. You were fading, Anumi, however slowly. Now, you aren't, and hopefully shan't."

She laughed softly. "I don't think you'd let me."

"Hmm."

She closed her eyes, smiling. "I just didn't expect my friends to be so… standoffish."

"Well—"

She looked up when he cut off, and caught his grimace. "What?"

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Try to consider this from their view. Suddenly, you're quite ill, and rushed off to Imladris, accompanied—oddly enough—by two princes and a healer. Next they know of you, you're back as a princess. It is not hard to imagine that they believe you and I were closer than we let on before we left. They may even have made up a romance disapproved of by your father, or mine, or even both, which we flouted by binding ourselves whilst out of their reach."

She blinked several times before wrapping her mind around that idea enough to shake her head. "How ridiculous! I can't believe you'd come up with such!"

He lifted his chin, tilting it imperiously. "Can you not?" he asked, tone and eyes every bit the perfect royal crowned prince. Only his amusement dampened the affect. "That's good, as I didn't," he relaxed. "I have heard such rumors, though they believed themselves too quiet to be overheard," he added in a drawl.

"You're serious? There are actually such rumors? Those silly ninnies."

He smirked. "Would you rather have rumors of the truth? In such times, it is best to accept the popular overly romanticized theory than propose others… I don't know what to suggest you tell your friends. We were in Imladris for several months, perhaps you can nudge them to a slow gathering on the journey, enforced to point of bond—"

"Along the way?" she added dryly. "I'm not a very good liar."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I'm not. I'm beautiful at evading the truth and giving elusive answers, but I'm not good at lying. Probably for the best, as I'd feel guilty if I could look a friend in the eye and lie well."

"Would they know you well enough?"

"Yes… those I now miss would, at least."

"Hmm. Perhaps you should send a runner to invite them to afternoon tea? Have it in the sitting room, so they won't dare refuse for mere curiosity if they would decline a princess's invitation." He yawned briefly, turning his head as his hands were too comfortably occupied. "Then allow their questions, their curiosity… and if it comes down to it, get mad at them and remind them you are still Anumi, even if Princess rather than Lady."

She smiled faintly, but sighed, and missed the flash of irritation and determination that flittered through her husband when he felt her disinclination to initiate a confrontation.


	23. Ropes or scarves

Hi everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long, but real life intruded most rudely... if you care about the excuses, read on, if not, go look under that oh-so-original page divider.

Still around? You must be bored. ;) Okay. First, I adopted a pair of sibling kittens in Feburary. Chaos (the male) and Confusion (the female). Well, Confusion never meows, so when she ended up on my third floor apartment's balcony, I didn't know about it until I couldn't find her when I wanted to go to bed. Natural conclusion: the most graceful kitten in the world (who topples onto her face when you stop petting her) fell off the balcony... Which resulted in two days of randomly starting to cry, the urge to throw my sluggish computer out the window and nearly kicking my printer across the room when it chose the only really important task I'd ever wanted to do as the perfect time to stop working. Then, after finding someplace with a working printer, I walked around, and around, and around, trying to find a mute cat who's always been skittish of strangers... and let's face it. Only the best trained of cats will deign to respond to a name on a good day. A nose-heavy kitten who keeps tumbling into walls never will. I've also not used the generic 'here kitty kitty'... so she's still missing, and the SPCA requires a personal visit every five days, even if your cat is distinctive in some way, and they're only open certain hours and they're downtown-- so by the time I fought my way through traffic and circled the neighborhood a few times, I just wanted a cold shower (my car doesn't have AC, and it's HOT out around here) and anything where I wouldn't have to think. (Which just doesn't work with my style of writing, sorry).

By the time things had started to settle down from that, I realized my dad's birthday party (50th, big bash) was rolling around, and I needed to work on his present-- which required my slow, halting computer and my not-working printer. Somehow, simply using the pre-installed softwear, I managed to so completely screw up my computer that I had to use system recovery. Twice. And then I had to take it in to be fixed. By then, it was Dad's birthday party, which was in the mountains, which meant I certainly wasn't dragging my computer and internet junk along, as even cell phones rarely get service, and my internet goes out with heavy winds--so forget about storms or mountains.

At the party, my step-mother got, to quote another guest who was walking crooked 'totally bombed'. Admittedly I wasn't stone sober myself... and I now believe everything they say about having impaired reflexes when intoxicated. As my step was out of commission, to the point where the almost obsessive attention to every detail was down to 'I really don't care', I was left to cook some sort of taco/southern bar-be-que/thingie that I'd never even heard of. In a foreign kitchen, with foreign appliances and the detris of a dozen or so wine bottles, six-packs, and five killed tequilla bottles along with some remaining margarita mix scattered around me (she had a reason to be bombed, eh?). I burned my fingers. Badly-- the fingertips on my left hand actually _blistered. _I didn't even know you _could_ hold onto something so long to burn yourself that badly without conscious effort... So, yeah, I believe the whole impaired reflexes thing, now.

At any rate, that was this last weekend, and only now are my fingers healed enough to type without wincing or trying to use one hand, which really does not work for me, as it's slower than long-hand.

So there you go. I didn't die, I've just had a _really_ rotten month.

P.S. My car's making funny noises so I've been visiting dealerships after work.

Sigh.

So, yeah-- if there are any grammatical errors below, forgive me (but if you _kindly_ point them out, I'll fix them...).

* * *

**_Chapter 23: Ropes or scarves_**

Anumi started when a light knock came on the door.

"Princess?"

She frowned, but slid the needle through the bit of cloth she was working on and set it aside. "Yes?" she called, getting to her feet.

The door opened, and Andun bowed his head. "Everything is prepared, your highness, and your guests shall be arriving shortly."

She frowned. "What?"

Andun smiled, mischievous lights in his eyes. "Your afternoon tea with your friends, Anumi. I personally insured all the invitations sent out were accepted."

She blinked as he puffed in pride. "I didn't send out any invitations."

"But they were sent out, and your guests shall be here soon… and are probably expecting a little bit of formality, so you might want to take off the apron and brush off the bits of thread."

She looked down, seeing her sewing apron, with its extra pockets and old tatters, bits of thread in a multitude of colors strewn about it, a few extra needles tucked safely into thick seams. She blinked, confused, but backed away from the door, pulling the apron off distractedly. "Andun, who sent out the invitations?"

"Your husband," he answered, tilting his head at her curiously. He deflated suddenly. "You didn't know, did you?"

"No."

He bowed his head. "Did you not ask for me, either?"

Her eyes lit up. "You're ours?" she asked.

Her tone must have given her away, because he looked up sharply, and grinned to match her eyes as he puffed once more. "Yes, your highness," he agreed, bowing deeply.

"Andun, I still remember leading you to the little elf's room. Don't try putting on airs. You know my name and have long used it. Continue."

"Only when allowed," he hesitated.

"You're allowed. If it makes you more comfortable to use titles when guests are around, do so, but otherwise, it'll only annoy me."

He grinned. "Are you ready?"

"No. Who's coming?"

"My Aunt Cirida, Lady Inirte, Lady Gaenal, Lady Hilmie, and Ninith."

She covered her mouth. "How… how did he know who to invite?"

Andun shrugged. "I don't know. I was waiting for Robarth to pen the invitations while he was figuring out who they went to. He came in, rattled off the names, and told me to get things ready once every invitation was accepted. It's been a busy morning, but actually quite fun." He puffed up again.

She laughed at his antics, and followed him into the sitting area. "They're coming here?" she asked, remembering the 'suggestion' her husband had offered before they'd returned to silently relaxing in the early morning light. "And where has the Prince gotten to?"

"I've no idea. He vanished after that, but I think I saw a stifled yawn."

Her reply was paused by a discrete knock on the outer doors.

Andun straightened importantly, brushed at the sleeve of his specially made tunic, then shook his head at her, pulling a bit of yellow thread from her dark hair. Then he nodded, seeming as proud of her as a hen with one chick. He moved to the door and opened it with a bow, looking briefly panicked as he met Anumi's eyes, realizing he didn't know if he was to announce the visitor—or how to announce her.

She smiled, moving forward to take over. "Ninith! I am glad you came," she admitted.

Ninith snorted and took a chair, sprawling in it. "That whippersnapper wouldn't take no for an answer."

"I had my orders," Andun said softly.

Ninith's eyes narrowed and her spine straightened. "Orders?" she asked, looking at Anumi with eyes that chilled slightly.

"Yes. Apparently Legolas felt an afternoon tea with my friends was what I needed to settle in here, and he made sure it was done," Anumi smiled deprecatingly as she spread her hands in a gesture that indicated her lack of involvement.

Ninith relaxed with a laugh. "The Royal Prerogative. I don't mind—it's been hard to catch up with you. You barely show up before you flitter off, and seem to have mastered vanishing in the halls. Did you meet a wizard in Imladris?" she asked politely.

Anumi laughed, shaking her head as she took the chair Legolas favored. "No. There were rumors he was coming, but we left before Mithrandir arrived. Probably for the best, if the stories I've heard of him are any indication."

Ninith snorted and motioned questioningly at the biscuits lining a small silver tray.

Anumi waved her on as another soft knock sounded.

"How was Imladris?"

"Quite beautiful, and quite different," Anumi admitted.

Andun opened the door. "Andun?" the voice asked in shock. "Whatever are _you_ doing here?"

He shuffled sheepishly. "I'm the official runner for Prince Legolas and Princess Anumi, Aunty," he explained. "I'm glad you got your invitation. Sorin promised…"

A snort. "But he is what he is," Cirida declared, patting him on the shoulder as she came in. She drew into herself slightly at seeing Anumi and Ninith watching her. "Good afternoon, Princess, Ninith."

"Good afternoon, Cirida," Anumi answered.

"Hey," Ninith smiled crookedly. She took another small delicacy from the tray. "Are there more of these?"

Anumi looked at Andun, who grinned and lifted a bit of cloth on the far table to show several more silver trays filled and waiting.

Ninith chuckled. "Nice." She glanced at Cirida. "How's the youngest?"

"Young. Sorin sees fit to do nothing with his time…" she smiled wickedly. "Though now that he has a royal servant to live up to, he may start thinking about what he wants to do."

Andun blushed and nervously shifted, reaching hesitantly for the tea. He jerked away when another soft knock from the guard outside the door indicated more guests.

Anumi shook her head. "Andun, relax. It's just tea with friends—you know half of those here well."

He smiled faintly, but took a deep breath before moving over to the door again. The three ladies entered, slowly moving to take seats on the least distinctive furniture around. Andun quickly poured the tea and made sure everything was in order before moving off to one side.

Anumi looked at Cirida. "Andun, why don't you go find something fun to do? Talk to your cousin, read a book, go to the training fields? I'm sure you'd be quite bored here, and we can manage to pour ourselves tea."

Cirida thawed, smiling. "Yes, go tell Sorin of your great fortune."

Andun blushed, bowed his head slightly, and strode from the room with the lanky gait of a puppy grown too large too quickly.

Cirida chuckled. "He's proud to be here."

"I am glad to have him," Anumi said, with a small smile. "Legolas promised I could offer him a place if our binding was unknown before the announcement, but he's been so busy lately I hadn't been able to ask if it _was_ unknown." She smiled at Cirida. "I knew he wouldn't tell, but I didn't want to offer him a place before speaking with Legolas."

Cirida nodded. "Understandable. Males can be so feisty when denied the chance to talk."

Inirte giggled slightly. "As if anyone would deny Prince Legolas."

Gaenal leaned back in her chair and studied Anumi. "Though I must say, girls, I thought Anumi would deny him."

Anumi blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, dear, you've so long kept to yourself, nudging anyone interested away that it was quite astonishing to find that you're bound to someone you only knew on sight a year ago."

Anumi sighed, but slowly nodded. "I suppose—"

"Unless, of course, you were merely waiting for him to show interest?" Gaenal finished.

Anumi looked at her dryly. "Please. Surely you know me better than that? I don't fall in love with strangers."

"But he was a stranger, and you are now bound."

"He _was_ a stranger, yes. He no longer is, and hasn't been since a mere day or so into our journey. I began to see who he was, and soon enough we were far closer than either ever expected."

"So the rumors that you left to bind yourselves away from your father?" Inirte asked leadingly.

"Are utter rubbish!" Anumi declared, before smiling darkly. "Rather like the rumors of you and Urigael… and was it ropes or scarves? That was never very clear," she drawled.

Inirte flushed angrily. She looked at her tea as if to set it on fire.

Hilmie sighed, and lifted her cup. "Every lady in the mountain—titled or otherwise—knows how malicious rumors can be. Friends must stick together!"

The others touched their cups and took rather large sips of their tea, most grimacing at the forgotten heat.

Cirida refilled the cups. "So, what's it like to be Princess?"

Anumi shook her head with a sigh. "Not all it's cracked up to be. I mostly get to do what I did before, but all those ladies who deemed me not worth their time are trying to befriend me, while many who knew me before have avoided me." She smiled faintly. "And it comes with a stubborn prince…"

"A very _handsome_ prince. Stubborn I'll have to take your word on, though no doubt he's quite entitled."

"No one is entitled to be stubborn. Many other similar words that essentially mean the same thing, yes, but not stubborn."

Anumi and the others laughed as Cirida scolded Inirte, making another mock toast with their tea.

Tea wore on nearly to dinner, when it was interrupted by a messenger from the King. "Princess," he bowed his head. "Is the Prince here?"

Anumi frowned and tilted her head, her eyes glazing slightly before she nodded. "Yes. What is it?"

"The King requests his presence in his study."

"The King's study, or Legolas's?"

The messenger blinked, and his ears turned slightly red. "I…"

She smiled. "I'll tell him."

He bowed and let himself out.

A moment later Legolas left their rooms quickly, pinning a searching look on her, checking her for signs of distress. Seeing none, he crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed his stance enough to lean against the frame of the door. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You elbowed me," he said, accusation soft in his voice as he frowned.

"So I did. Thranduil wishes to see you—either in his study, or yours. The messenger wasn't paying close enough attention to be clear."

He let out a noise near a grunt and then glanced at the others. He smiled crookedly. "Your afternoon tea is running a bit late, is it not?"

The ladies colored slightly, but Anumi merely lifted a brow. "I suppose it is."

"I would say tell Andun to fetch up your food, but you've probably sent him off somewhere so you could gossip at will."

"We don't _gossip_," she drawled.

"Of course not," he agreed, deadpan.

She couldn't keep the corners of her lips from quirking up.

He chuckled softly. "I'll send someone up on my way," he offered, moving towards the door.

"Legolas?"

"Hmm?" He paused, turning to see her as his hand slipped from the door.

She quirked a brow, then cocked her head to the side. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes. Why?"

She let her gaze slowly trail from his eyes down his chin, his bare chest with its fading scars—only the ones from the relatively recent arrows visible without deep scrutiny—to his sleep-twisted leggings and finally stopped on his bare toes.

A small coil of heat grew sharply as it was compounded beyond herself as their eyes met. He cleared his throat, projecting embarrassment for those who couldn't feel him, and moved quickly back to their chambers. He reemerged before the ladies could let out caught breaths, and curled his fingers in Anumi's hair, tilting her head back slightly to kiss her brow as he passed, his shirt half-on and boots dangling in one hand.

"I like the piece you're working on," he threw over his shoulder as his shirt slid into place, before pulling the door shut behind him, bending just beyond to step into one boot.

"Oof!" Ninith exhaled sharply. "By Eru!" she added. "He can walk around half-dressed every time we visit!"

The others laughed briefly, cutting their agreeing noises short to see a hard light in Anumi's eyes.

Gaenal cleared her throat quickly to distract them. After all, her mate was zealously jealous and she knew that look well. "What happened?"

They all looked at her.

She sighed at their blankness, briefly rolling her eyes. "He had rather bad scars on his chest and back that looked fairly recent. But I don't recall the panic that normally accompanies his injuries."

Anumi snorted. "No. That panic actually deters the stubborn fool from seeing a healer most of the time. Those injuries, though, happened on the way to Imladris. We were attacked by orcs and spiders—not working together, but both there, and both interested in seeing we didn't make it out of the wood. Legolas was shot four times… You could see three of the scars, if you'd looked," she mused, her tone going dry.

Inirte grinned. "And we did."

Anumi snorted. "One went through his abdomen, back to front, one in his shoulder but struck bone, one through his upper arm, the other through his thigh."

"With so many injuries, why didn't you turn around?"

"Because his injuries were actually the lightest," Anumi admitted. "Brehurin, the guard he chose to accompany us, was shot with a poisoned arrow, as were Kirilan and I. Pascail, naturally, escaped unharmed."

They gaped at her. "You were shot? Poisoned?"

She nodded. "But I was well cared for. It took us much longer to reach Imladris… and by the time we did, Legolas and I knew I would be returning with him."

Hilmie shook her head as Inirte's 'awwwww' trailed off. "It sounds very romantic, in a painful sort of way… but it also seems very unlike the Prince Legolas we all see."

"Does it seem unlike the Legolas who just left?" Anumi countered.

Hilmie considered that, as did the others. "Perhaps not," she agreed slowly. "He does seem… more gentle…"

"Softer," Inirte agreed, smiling brightly.

Ninith snorted. "You don't know the half of it. The great Prince Legolas, who we all know—thanks to the grumbling you can't walk through these halls without hearing—had kept the advisors and commanders closeted in his study for the last eleven days, practically from dawn to dawn again. Finishing with that, what does our illustrious King's eldest son do? He runs around the halls, discovering who and where the best friends of his wife are, and has the Hall's Master of Writing create invitations to tea, merely so that they can comfort her and help her adjust…"

"While he sleeps," Cirida finished. "What was that about you 'elbowing' him?" she asked, looking at Anumi over her teacup's rim.

"As he said. I elbowed him. I've used it often enough when I need him to find me."

"Which would explain why he seemed to be checking you over for injury," Gaenal drawled.

"Your bond is very deep, then," Hilmie mused.

Anumi smiled faintly. "I can feel a poorly stitched seam rubbing irritatingly at the new skin on his shoulder."

They were quiet for a long moment.

Then, Inirte broke the silence. "Isn't that annoying?"

Laughter filled the room, broken only briefly when several elves entered the room with trays of food.


	24. Disinclined to separate

**_Chapter 24: Disinclined to separate _**

Herita bit her lip and looked helplessly at the door that led to the rooms she shared with her parents.

"Everything is fine, Herita," Anumi told her, as soothingly as she could.

Herita sighed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap, rocking slightly on the edge of the chair.

"It could be a _long_ time before we hear anything," she added, hoping the girl would relax.

"Why can't I be there?" Herita asked, getting up, pressing her ear to the door.

"Come away, Herita," Anumi warned.

Herita looked at her, a slightly irritated look fading at the sternness apparent in her aunt's face. "Why?"

"Because you shouldn't be there," was the reply, answering both questions.

Herita sighed and looked around the room edgily, her fingers threading and twisting together. She moved flightily from one place to another, touching books, bits of art, trailing a path over the family tree that had recently been updated to include Anumi's name.

"Shall I read you a story?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. I know all of these," she waved an absent hand at the children's books interspersed among the other literature.

"We could go to the library and find new ones."

"There aren't any _new_ ones," Herita scoffed.

Anumi frowned. "Herita."

Herita bit her lip and suddenly sniffled. "What if something's wrong?" Her shoulders folded in defensively.

Anumi sighed, almost relieved as Herita reverted to her normal behavior. "If something is wrong, your mother is being tended by the best healers in the realm."

"But… what if it's not enough?"

"Then I suppose you'll be stuck with only your father, and Nana, and Kirilan, and Thranduil, and Legolas… and, of course, me."

Herita slowly looked away from the door and crawled up on the couch beside Anumi, resting her head on her aunt's lap.

Anumi quickly fished a brush from the bag beside her, and began working it through the golden hair.

As ever, the continuous motion soothed the little elf, and her tension slowly eased even as time wore on without word from the rooms she wasn't permitted to enter until called for. "Aunty?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me a story?"

"I thought you didn't want a story?" Anumi asked teasingly.

Herita shook her head. "I don't want one read to me. I like your stories," she added, looking up beseechingly.

"Ah," she mused. "Give me a moment." She gazed at the water falling from a designed series of rocks and metal shelves, trying to create a story quickly. "Alright," she declared.

Herita smiled, a bit fainter than usual, but it was still a smile.

"In a kingdom of creatures—"

"What kind of creatures?"

"Creatures rather like elves, but also rather like men, with the most powerful magic of all—when they learned how to use it."

"What was it?"

"Listen to the story, dear one."

Herita exhaled sharply, but subsided.

"In a kingdom of creatures far from all known to us in this part of Arda, there was a King, a King who wanted, more than anything else, a son."

"Why not a daughter?"

"Well, sweetie, most males want someone to carry on after them. Especially a King."

"Oh."

"His Queen became with child, after much difficulty, and he talked to healers, to witches, to seers, and he prayed to the gods. He did every task, every little thing anyone he talked to suggested or ordered in the hopes that something he did would make providence smile upon him and grant him a son."

"Who's Pra-vih-dense?"

Anumi blinked. "Providence isn't a person… it's… kind of like a cross between fate and luck."

"Oh… why didn't he just hope to be lucky?"

"Because it was luck that created the pregnancy," Anumi said quickly, mentally crossing fingers, hoping this conversation would never come back to haunt her. A child's memory was an interesting thing—one never knew what little thing would stick for millennia.

Herita nodded after a long, uncertain moment.

Anumi exhaled. "Well, the time passed, as time generally does, and soon the Queen was with the healers, bringing their child into the world… or, as it turned out, their children."

"Twins? Like Elidan and Elroear?"

Anumi stifled a snigger, but nodded. "Yes, like Elidan and Elroear," she agreed, wickedly planning the greeting to her next Imladris-bound letter. "The King got his son… but he also got a daughter. The girl was born first, which by their law, would have made her the heir to the throne.

"Now that, the King couldn't bear, so he ordered the healer and his wife to silence, then ordered the healer to throw the girl into the wood.

"But his wife begged and pleaded, and finally he relented, ordering a room made for the girl under the dungeons. There she was fed, clothed, and even taught, though her teachers and servers never knew who she was, any more than she knew who she was.

"So life moved on, the Prince grew up, taught by every master the forms of weaponry, taught how to read and deal with figures. What no one understood was how this child, doted on by an entire kingdom, told 'no' by none, grew to be such a caring and sympathetic young man.

"He heard every side to a story before acting. He offered his own bread to the hungry. He but rarely took offense to things others did, and was, in an odd way, the best Prince they'd ever had.

"But he was afflicted by an odd malady, one only the healer assigned to him and the Queen knew about.

"Every few days, since he'd turned twenty, wounds would appear on his body, with no cause."

"What?"

Anumi lifted a brow, and Herita sighed, waiting quietly.

"The Queen and healer would watch over him in his sleep, and saw the lines of blood appearing." Anumi paused and pressed a hand to her chest. "He was covered in welts, in cuts, in crisscrossing scars, but no one ever laid a hand upon him.

"Finally, the Queen realized something that she'd not noticed before in her own overwhelming concern.

"'My son, why do you not wonder about these wounds? Why do you accept them so easily?'

"He smiled gently at her. 'Mother, of course I accept them. There is little else I can do, and it seems little enough to me.'

"'What do you mean?'

"He moved to the window, and looked out at the bright dawn rushing over the land. 'I am able, every day, to see this beauty. I ride out in the wind, I go swimming and run through tall, damp grasses. I smell the rain and watch the lightning. I am free—this she grants me, and no reproach, no envy, no hate. She looks and feels through me, so she can live beyond her little room. So why should I not return that favor? I bear her wounds, as she has born mine.'

"To say the Queen was stunned would be far from adequate. 'Of whom do you speak?' she asked quietly.

"He looked at her sadly, shaking his head. 'My sister, Mother, who else? Why is she kept in that room, whilst I am allowed free? Why—'"

Herita sat up sharply. "Anumi? Are you alright?"

Anumi quirked a brow. "I was telling a story."

"But you… acted like your arm hurt."

"Yes. Acted. My arm is fine. Now, may I?"

Slowly Herita eased herself down, but turned herself so she could see Anumi's face more clearly.

"'What's the matter?'

"'Why is she beaten? Why is she cut? She has done nothing, and asks for less.'

"The Queen considered everything she'd learned, then sent her son back to bed to rest. She sought her husband, and told him of the malady that had overcome their son.

"The King was terribly distraught, of course, but very guilty, as well.

"For as she aged, the Princess became more and more beautiful—in personality as well as being. She was never found with an ill word, nor the slightest selfishness. Several of her tutors had asked him about her, wondering who her father was—so they could ask for her hand in marriage.

"Naturally, he couldn't allow that to happen. She was alive, but to be imprisoned for the rest of her life.

"So he set out to shorten her life. He thought that a few beatings would kill her spirit and she would lose interest in life and waste away.

"To his horror and rage, the wounds the guard inflicted healed before his eyes, barely shedding blood before they were gone. Welts vanished the same, as did bruises. Nothing seemed to hurt her.

"Now he finally knew why, and sent for his son, taking him down to see his sister.

"The King did not expect what happened when they saw each other.

"Not for an instant did they wonder, did they observe. At once they embraced tightly, and seemed disinclined to separate.

"The King relented, at length, and allowed his children to rule the Kingdom together. The connection they'd shared which kept him humble and let her escape her pain and confinement held them well in their life-long rule. Their children also ruled together, as many generations following did, and the Kingdom flourished."

Herita blinked. "Anumi?"

"Yes?"

"That was a shorter ending than you usually—"

"Herita?"

She spun so sharply to the voice that she fell off the couch. "Father?"

"It's over, my dear. You have a brother."

"How's Mother?"

"A little weary, but fine. She's taking rest."

"Can I… Can I come back inside?"

"You may," he agreed.

She ran in under his arm.

He smiled after her, and offered Anumi a wearier smile.

"Everything is well?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes. They're both asleep…"

"I'll tell Legolas when he comes in—but we expect to see him at breakfast!"

He laughed shortly. "As if I could keep Odrune from showing him about!"

She smiled, and inclined her head as he dipped his. He returned to their quarters just as a door slid into appearance before vanishing again under cunning craft. "Your nephew has arrived safely."

"A bit late, isn't he?" Legolas asked, moving to stand next to the couch.

"A few hours," she agreed, stretching once she stood. "Herita was terribly nervous."

"I suppose you made up yet another story for her."

"Of course."

"What was this one?"

"A pair of twins separated at birth but never separated."

He blinked. "Okay."

She smiled, shaking her head. "Not important."

"Not compared to a nephew," he agreed.

"Compared to the blood you're about to drip onto your father's favorite rug," she countered. "Come on."

He stared at the space she'd been standing for a long moment.

"Legolas?"

He turned, and upon seeing her curious concern, smiled lopsidedly. "I could get used to this," he mused, following her slowly, biting back a hiss when she peeled his quiver off over his injured arm. As it hung limply beside him, she helped him out of his shirt as well.

"I don't know that I will," she grumbled, quickly cleaning the wound. "A little bit more force and it would have gone through the bone!"

"Good thing I killed him before he could try again, eh?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You need a better healer than I."

"Just put on the proper herbs and bind it, Anumi. I've had worse go treated more poorly."

"And no one to share the pain," she countered, glaring at him even as she finished binding the wound.

She was starting to wonder at his mental state when he just stared at her for the longest time.

Then he smiled impishly and kissed the tip of her nose, before sinking down onto the mattress.

Knowing she had lost, but for some reason not minding too much, she sighed and stretched out in front of him, shaking her head as she tucked her hand under her chin. A moment later she looked up sharply. "Legolas?"

"It'll stop hurting soon," he promised, shifting himself slightly.

She grimaced, but his arm did stop paining them a little while later. "And if I move during the night?"

"Don't," he whispered, half starting to pull her closer before his arm screamed in protest once more.

She sighed and moved forward, nuzzling her nose into his sternum, his injured arm draped over her side.


	25. Should all be sundered

**_Chapter 25: _****_Should all be sundered _**

Legolas tilted his head to the side as he listened to Urigael.

When Urigael stopped speaking and settled back in his seat, Legolas offered him what was almost a half smile before shaking his head. "I never thought you would stoop to using my wife against me in an argument," he admitted at length.

Urigael stiffened. "I did not—"

"You certainly did. You would hold her safety as a sort of ransom—do as you wish or worry for her."

"That is not what I had intended. I merely thought that as you now have someone whose welfare is your concern—"

Legolas sat forward sharply from his languid pose, his eyes narrowed furiously. "I have never been without concern for the welfare of another. Every move I make, every decision, every command is concerned with the welfare of the Wood, of my blood. Having a wife makes no difference—if it did, I would be a poor leader, indeed."

Urigael froze, blinking rapidly as he swallowed tightly, trying to find a way out of the trap he'd fallen into, wishing that he wasn't the one to set the trap in the first place. After a long moment, he sighed, lowering his head as his shoulders slumped. "Cousin."

As Urigael had never actually used that title in an argument, Legolas settled back in his chair warily. "Yes?"

"I did not mean to imply you have failed in your duty, in your leadership. As you've probably guessed, I came to you now—alone, not with advisors or commanders—to try to at last understand your utter refusal to consider returning force to the wood. I suppose I had thought being bound to another might soften you enough to listen."

"I am softened to her, yes. And I have always listened, though you've never given me cause to do so. Being bound does not mean my mind has fled, no matter what rumors are floating about the halls."

Urigael's only response was to rub at the bridge of his nose.

After a long moment, Legolas's eyes softened a tad. "Do you know why the fort was closed?" he asked softly.

"It was abandoned after a small battle."

Ire flashed through him, but the elf before him couldn't see it. With precise movements, Legolas opened the top drawer on his left, and removed a scroll. He unrolled it slowly, and pushed it across the desk. "There is the reason."

Urigael took the scroll and ran his eyes along the column of names. "What is this? A petition to close the fort?"

Legolas shook his head. "No. Those elves are those who were at the fort when it was attacked for the last time. The three who have other names written next to their own are the only ones who survived. They were reassigned to the patrols under those named."

Urigael paled. "This many?"

"No," Legolas shook his head and withdrew a thin ledger. He tossed it over, and waited until Urigael opened it. "You know the mark left for each form of death. Count them, if you wish. Better yet, look at the reasons those who left the fort did so. They lost friends, brothers, cousins, uncles… but those chosen to go out to the fort were stronger, hardier than those left to serve here. Yet they still felt the desire all too often to be removed from that place. It was dark, it was dangerous, and it seeped into their very marrow. A few nearly went mad out there, and many chose to leave the service entirely, rather than continue on. One hundred and sixty-four killed while the fort was in service. Another sixty lost from the service for one reason or another, ten driven to grief or madness."

Urigael was whiter than was healthy. "But it _was_ of value…"

"Not really," Legolas shook his head. "Messengers couldn't be sent because the way was dangerous, so their reports did us no good by the time they came. Supplies had to be guarded by two patrols—and if we're sending out two patrols every week or so, why not simply send them out to scout? Even when we held the fort, Urigael, its only value was so the people knew we had an eye in the forest."

"Then… why… _why_ was it kept open?"

"Because Father declared it would be. After the last battle, he bowed to my long-time request to close the fort and send more frequent patrols, instead."

Urigael's eyes returned to the ledger. "This is your hand."

"Yes, it is."

"You tracked _everything?_" he asked, frowning at the precise notes on every elf. Family left at a village or in the mountain, relatives at the fort, time in the service, commander's opinions, weapon skills, experience in the deep wood… reason for leaving or cause of death.

"Of course. The fort was an important decision."

Urigael frowned. "But you weren't even in the service when it was built."

"No," Legolas agreed quietly. "Had I been of age at the time, I would like to think it would never have been built."

Urigael snorted. "You never even considered reopening it."

"No."

He shook his head. "You've let me argue worthlessly for decades."

"I gave you an adequate reason every time."

"Adequate? No. You gave a good reason, but the value I saw…"

"Was false, and not worth the cost."

"No," Urigael agreed softly. "Why… why not just tell me all of this?"

Legolas half-smiled. "You wouldn't have listened. It wasn't so much that you wanted the fort, was it?"

Urigael's mouth opened on an automatic denial, but he stilled. He smiled ruefully. "No."

"No," Legolas agreed. "You wanted to fight me, you wanted me to concede. You simply chose something I would never give in to… and never researched your argument as you should have."

Urigael was silent for a long while, considering this insight. Slowly he shook his head. "We've never been as cousins."

"No. But you are my cousin."

With a snort, Urigael leaned back in his chair after setting the ledger on Legolas's desk. "What worth have I as an advisor?"

"None."

"Then why allow me to stay around?"

"What worth have any of the advisors?"

Urigael thought about that, and then grimaced. "My father had worth."

"Yes. As, once upon a time, did the advisors. They… have grown lazy, complacent. They do not do as they were told."

"Then why keep them around? I cannot imagine you enduring incompetence."

"You have seen me do so."

Urigael glared at a painting on the far wall. "Yes, and I don't understand why."

"I've told you why."

"Because I'm your cousin," he reiterated. "But that doesn't explain the others."

"Doesn't it? They need to feel needed, need to feel important. They believe my youth is tantamount to inexperience, so they believe they no longer have to do anything more than spout old ideas, and I will believe them wise. Should I remove them, the faith the Wood has in me would be disastrously weakened."

"Then you could add, couldn't you? Assign other elves for similar purposes."

"And those displaced elders? They would grumble, and the faith and trust I rely on would be shaken, though not as terribly as it would if I should just dismiss them all."

Looking at his cousin, at the Crowned Prince, at the Commander of the Troops… Urigael saw a stranger. One he didn't understand, and yet… somehow did. "Why speak so frankly with me?"

"You are my cousin, Urigael… and you are the first advisor to care enough about a subject to approach me beyond the meetings. You set aside your arrogance and pride and saw the truth when it was offered. Perhaps you will use what you've seen today to become an advisor worthy of the name."

"As your little brother is?" Urigael asked, his smile bitterly twisted. "I've always… wondered at how treasured he seems, when he doesn't pay much attention."

"He doesn't need to pay attention in the meetings, as nothing is ever said."

Urigael's eyebrows lifted, but he slowly bowed his head. "I shall speak with my father, and try to make myself worthy of the title as it once was."

Legolas inclined his head slightly.

As Urigael turned to leave, he hesitated, and glanced almost back before staring resolutely at a display holding four swords in a double cross, instead. "I am sorry, Legolas."

There wasn't a reply, and he didn't expect one, though he frowned warily as Dalidan entered as he left.

Legolas' muscles tensed slightly, when they'd only just started to relax. "What business do you have, Dalidan?"

"I'll keep it brief, Prince Legolas. I know you've a wife to return to."

"So I do," Legolas agreed, leaning back in his chair, lacing his fingers lightly over his stomach. The pose projected nonchalance, even as he felt Anumi's concern for his tension. "As I know you've some vested interest in her."

The skin around Dalidan's eyes tightened slightly, betraying the accuracy of Legolas's statement when nothing else did. Even Legolas almost missed it. Had he not been so on edge thanks to Anumi's unexplained dislike for the elf before him, he would have. "I have long been the one to care for her," Dalidan said softly, dismissing the comment.

"Well, she is mine to care for, now."

Dalidan smiled thinly. "I didn't say she wasn't."

"What had you come for? You never did get around to saying."

Dalidan lifted a brow. "Your hostility is noted," he said softly. Then he smiled that small smile again. "And pointless. I am no threat."

"I'm sure," Legolas retorted flatly.

"I merely wanted to be sure the Princess hasn't suffered any ill effects of the no doubt stressful return to take her place at your side."

"My wife is well looked after, Dalidan, and is no longer any concern of yours."

"I have been the only healer to care for her since her mother left."

"As Pascail has long been the healer my family first turns to. Your concern is noted, and pointless. She is well cared for."

A flickering of lips that didn't quite manage to feign as a smile, and Dalidan sharply bowed his head before taking his leave.

Legolas' eyes narrowed, and he wavered indecisively for an instant before storming from his study once he was sure Dalidan was gone from the halls he would be taking.

He followed that 'knowing' in the back of his mind to find Anumi walking aimlessly with her father through the garden that was actually lit with pure, unadulterated sunshine when the sun was out, or lit, as now, by pure starlight.

She turned to look for his approach, Cabrical turning shortly with a confused frown. "What is it?" she asked.

He didn't speak, simply took her tightly by the arm, automatically loosening his grip when he felt her pain, not needing to see a flinch—nor even her face. "Good eve, Lord Cabrical," he called over his shoulder, pulling Anumi away. He led her swiftly through the halls until they were within their sitting room, and there he released her. "What has Dalidan done?"

Instantly she shuddered, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Nothing."

"Yes he has. He _must_ have, to so affect you."

She grimaced and looked away. "But he has _done_ nothing. Don't you think that if he had, my father would have released him from our care long ago?"

"I think your father should have done so, as he so disturbs you."

"I have no real reason to be disturbed…"

"Yet you are disturbed, and obviously so."

"Obviously, yes. To _you_, and only because you can feel my emotions. My Father cannot."

Legolas started to argue before remembering just how well she hid. He closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. "Anger isn't going to do anything," he muttered softly. He opened his eyes and strode to her swiftly, pulling her into his arms, lowering his head down, nudging hers towards his shoulder. "How about panicked concern, then?"

"Panicked?" she snorted, before relaxing into him, her forehead dropping to his shoulder.

"Alright. Furious concern?"

With a soft chuckle she shook her head.

"Anumi," he sighed. "Please, proof or not, surety or not, tell me."

She tensed, but remained silent.

"Anumi," he groaned. "I shall not judge you, condemn you, nor rail at you. I've found _no one_ so disliked. You even made peace of sorts with Lindril before we left Imladris. She of all I know you had reason to dislike. I _know_ there is a reason, and it isn't some foolish thing—I know you too well to believe that."

"But it _is_ a foolish thing."

"Tell me, regardless, though I don't believe it."

She turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his shoulder, and sighed. "He didn't look at me as a healer."

She felt Legolas's confusion, then a towering flame of anger. "He was inappropriate?"

"Not really, no."

"But you felt he was."

She sighed, but slowly nodded. "Sometimes… I got the feeling he thought I was his, in some way." She shuddered. "Or maybe that he thought I should be. I… he just…"

"Shh," Legolas soothed, leaning down to kiss her nape. "If he is ever called, I shall not leave your side unless I must, and in such case will see Kirilan or Da in my place."

Slowly she looked up, and he smiled faintly at her relief. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek before frowning. "What brought this on, anyway?"

"He came to visit, and I picked up on a hint of disapproval and possessiveness on his part. Thinking nearly drove me mad."

She smiled faintly and snuggled into him again, before a soft knock at the door disturbed them.

"Prince Legolas?"

"Yes, Andun?"

"Lord Cabrical requests a moment."

Legolas and Anumi frowned at each other before separating slowly. Legolas shrugged. "We will probably go to my study."

She quirked a brow lightly. "I won't wait up."

He smiled faintly, kissing her brow. He ran a gentle hand down her cheek before turning away, silently shutting the door of their rooms behind him.

Lord Cabrical bowed, motioning towards the doors.

Legolas led the way silently, confused a bit by the unexpected visit, but not worried. There were two main reasons for Cabrical to meet with him.

Somehow, he was pretty sure he knew which one was concerning the lord.

He was justified in his assurance when Cabrical paced once they reached his study. "What about Anumi is concerning you?" Legolas asked at length.

"The bond you have with her."

Legolas tensed slightly and quirked a brow. "I thought that was settled."

"As did I. Then I learned it is possible to break bonds, if they have not been reinforced. If you have not truly kissed her, you may not have to remain bound to one you do not love."

At Legolas's silence, Cabrical nodded.

"I see you haven't."

"I've not heard of a bond being broken."

"Nor have I… but the instance in which a bond could become broken is not one which is usually celebrated. Your position demanded otherwise."

"So it did," Legolas agreed softly. "Still, I have heard much about the ways of healing, and we were in Imladris. Elrond knew the reason behind our binding, yet said nothing, though he would have known that to break the bond then would be easiest on all, if such is possible."

"Would Anumi have been strong enough to survive it, then?"

Legolas looked sharply away.

"No," Cabrical interpreted. "Which would explain his silence, would it not?"

"Perhaps. I find it interesting, though, that Pascail said nothing, either."

"Pascail may not know," Cabrical admitted. He frowned when Legolas's eyes narrowed and chilled.

"If not Pascail, I suppose you learned this interesting information from Dalidan." Legolas enounced the statement precisely, that care hinting at anger even though his voice was even.

"Yes," Cabrical agreed warily, belatedly remembering Legolas's response to Dalidan when Anumi was around.

"You do realize, of course, that Dalidan has ulterior motives where Anumi is concerned. It's why she so despises him and shrinks from his presence."

Cabrical almost protested, but again replayed that moment. Legolas was responding to what he saw as an attack on his mate, and responding viciously. His eyes narrowed as his lips thinned. Finding out she'd kept such from him was painful, but he was here for her sake. "Be that as it may, the information may be valid, and worth looking into. If it is possible, neither of you would have to be bound to one you didn't love."

"Cabrical," Legolas shook his head. "Right now, I _do_ love her."

"Because of the bond being as deep as it is."

Legolas shrugged. "I don't know." He sighed. "But I do know she feels the same. We are content together. Isn't that enough?"

Cabrical lifted a brow. "You tell me. Is it?"

Legolas looked away, before snorting. "That at least explains why Dalidan wished to see me this evening. I take it he spoke with you a while ago?" He continued at Cabrical's nod. "He was there to offer his assistance in the process, to be assured it happened."

Cabrical's frown was dark. "Are you sure about him?"

"I am quite sure he has done something that makes Anumi recoil from him, makes her insides chill with the mere mention of him. Whatever he has or has not done, I shall never willingly let them alone together."

"Nor shall I," Cabrical sighed, rubbing at his temples wearily.

Legolas looked at the books lining the shelves, knowing none had the answers he needed. "Say nothing of this conversation if he asks. If she and I do choose to break the binding—if it is, indeed, possible—he shall never know. Even if I feel nothing more than indifference towards her should all be sundered, I have promised in essence that he shall not harm her." He rose with a sigh. "I only wish I knew if this 'goodwill' information of his would fall into that category or not."


	26. Save the poisonous snake

**_Chapter 26: Save the poisonous snake _**

Anumi paced nervously, frowning as she waited uncertainly.

"Anumi?"

She started, turning to see the one who had intruded upon her forced solitude. She nearly dismissed him, before an idea struck her too swiftly to be considered. She was already acting upon it, taking his arm, dragging him through halls and corridors until she was before a blank wall. She gestured at it in inarticulate worry and frustration.

Kirilan frowned. "What?"

She made a noise that only halfway expressed herself before fisting her fingers in her hair. "He's on the other side, and I can't find a way in."

He blinked. "I'm sure he'll come out sooner or later."

"Not good enough. Please, Kirilan, he's hurting."

That made his spine stiffen. "He's hurt?" he asked sharply, already walking swiftly away.

"Not _physically_… but yes."

Kirilan hesitated. "You realize…"

"That by going somewhere he has not shown me, somewhere that clearly is a private refuge of sorts, he probably doesn't want me to find him? Yes." She shuddered and began pacing again.

With a sigh, Kirilan shook his head. "Come on, Anumi."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "I think… I'd rather be as close as possible, if you won't lead me to him." She bit her lip and looked at him pleadingly. "You could blindfold me. Then I wouldn't know how to return."

"You'd know enough," Kirilan smirked.

She flushed and turned her head aside.

He lightly ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "Come on. You'd never find it the way you're going. It is one of the few places known only to Royalty and the builder of these halls." He took her hand. "So asking how to get in there will only get you blank looks."

"I know," she muttered, glaring at the stone again.

He chuckled and led her through the main corridor they were on to a small, narrow pathway roughly carved into the wall. They went down a flight of stairs to the floor that generally held storage—weaponry, food. The smiths were at work here, their craft's ringing noise harsh compared to the relative silence of the higher halls. He led her through them, winding around a circuitous route before going down another small stair.

Anumi wrinkled her nose at the smell of the cleaning supplies that permeated the air here, but didn't question it. This was far closer to the largest source of hot water. Though she'd not really thought about it before, it made sense for the laundry to be centered around it. "Kirilan?"

He smiled over his shoulder. "Took you longer than expected to protest," he said softly. Then he turned a sharp corner and slid behind a large tapestry to yet another narrow hall, ending in a small room with a wobbly table and a few dusty, moldy books. The one chair was obviously broken, the seat hanging at an awkward angle. He motioned at a door, then moved to a ledge carved into a bench at the far side of the room. "I'll wait here for a while, in case you need a guide back."

She smiled wryly. "In case he kicks me out," she mused.

He simply half-smiled and withdrew a thin book from his robes.

She sighed and looked at the door, matching it to the one key she'd not yet used. "Kirilan?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a key to this room?"

"Yes. But it's considered his. We each have our own little hidey-hole. You weren't given keys to them, any more than we would use our keys here, save in most urgent need."

She bit her lip and slowly unlocked the door, locking it behind her as the torches around her lit in response to her presence. Hesitantly she looked at the staircase spiraling above her.

She shook herself with a sigh and began climbing, wondering what state she would find her husband in when she arrived.

It turned out she was right in the only guess she seemed able to form—he was staring blankly into space, but wasn't startled when his eyes focused on her.

He smiled wearily. "Kirilan?" he asked, so very softly she nearly didn't hear him.

She nodded slowly, frowning.

His lips quirked again. "Dalidan is poison."

Her insides jolted, sending her to crouch beside him, hands reaching for him. "What has he done to you?" she asked, her hands running searchingly over chest, over cheeks, over hair and trembling as they stilled over his heart.

He caught her hands, shaking his head. "Nothing like that, little one. Nothing so simple as that." He sighed, getting to his feet slowly.

She blinked when she heard a loud crack.

He rolled his shoulders back before shifting, several more small noises betraying how very long he'd remained unmoving in his seat. He drew her over to the couch, angling his body towards her without looking at her.

"Legolas…"

Another faint smile, coupled with wistfulness as he looked up. He touched her cheek, making her chest ache with how very gentle he was. "Is this real?" he asked softly.

"Is what real?" she asked.

His smile was knowing. "You know what. This tenderness, compassion, possession. I am you and you are me. Is it real?" He tilted his head, and a flicker of sadness once again flickered through her. "Or is it merely the bond?"

"I-I…"

"I don't either," he admitted, running his thumb under her eye.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he whispered, and she felt his throat tighten.

"Why?"

"Because we haven't reinforced the bond. It…" he let out a hard breath. "It can be broken."

Her throat tightened. "What?"

He looked at her, and she saw his uncertainty, his hesitance. "It can be broken. I've found reference to it being done in several books." He waved his hand at the table.

She looked at the books piled on the table, and laced her fingers together in her lap.

He let out a noise and gathered her hands into his, bringing them to his lips. "I didn't look because I want it broken, Anumi."

"Then why would you?"

He closed his eyes, his head bowed over their hands. "I had to know if it was true. If there was a chance you did not have to be bound to one you don't love, I had to know."

"But I—"

He placed a finger over her lips. "We are close to that… yes. But is it because of us, or because of the closeness forced by the bond? I certainly cannot tell, and I've wondered many times." He shook his head. "We can never know, as long as we are bound, if we would have chosen this. We _know_ that we wouldn't have at the time. I've admitted you interested me, however faintly, though I would never have done anything as I saw Kirilan's interest in you."

She smiled ruefully. "You were a welcome relief to his form of fawning, but you irritated me nearly as much, in a different fashion."

He nodded. "I know."

She looked at the damning books. "As you know I don't wish to be released?"

"Nor do I."

"Then—"

He shook his head. "We cannot think clearly. We are both influenced by the bond."

"Yes. Is it so horrible? We are not alone, and we are…"

"Yes, we are," he agreed. "We will always be at least content, now that we've managed to stop fighting, for the most part. But… but there may be someone better suited for each of us, out there. Someone who we will fall in love with so fully that such as we now feel will be felt without the aid of a bond." He let out a tortured noise as the tears fell from her eyes onto their hands.

"What… what if it's you?"

"Then I pray it'll be you, as well," he whispered, leaning closer.

She met his eyes, frowning when he turned aside sharply, cursing under his breath.

He smiled weakly, and shook his head. "I nearly sealed it," he breathed, gently touching her cheek.

"A kiss would end this?"

He smiled faintly and put two fingers over her lips before she could think. "Yes. But we shan't take the easy way out."

"Have we ever?" she grumbled, looking away.

"Anumi… if we discover feeling exists beyond the separation, we simply… enter an odd sort of courtship, I suppose."

"And if we don't, we tell the entire wood how we were bound in the first place?"

He hesitated. "I don't really know…"

"But you don't like the idea."

"No."

"Why? If you'll go to such lengths to be rid of me—"

He again covered her mouth. "I want to know if this is real, or merely the magic of the bond twisting my emotions to make me believe it. You should know well enough that I despise being controlled. This is the only way I'll know… don't you want to know?"

She looked away. "I'm in a slightly different situation, Legolas. I was alone nearly my entire life. I've found I like having someone." She lifted her eyes to his, seeing the flicker in them she felt a moment later.

"As do I," he agreed. "I was thinking… considering… hoping…"

She'd never seen him so hesitant. Slowly she reached up, trailing her fingers gently under his chin, coaxing his eyes up. "What?"

"That we would continue. For a time, at least."

"Continue? Pretend to be bound?"

He nodded.

"That would certainly solve all question of what to tell the Wood, wouldn't it?"

"It's not just that, Anumi. If it can't be done, or if we choose to bind ourselves again, it would be so much simpler if no one knew."

"No one?"

He grimaced. "I think everyone would be as ambivalent as we currently are, save the poisonous snake who suggested this possibility."

She made the connection, her eyes narrowing as her lips twisted in an unvoiced snarl.

He sighed, bringing her hands to his chest. "He wants you. I won't let him have you, even if we should return to being antagonists."

She closed her eyes. "You're decided."

"I won't force you."

"You are."

He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I would not hold denial against you," he whispered.

"But you know I cannot deny you, not in this. Even if things had not grown so that I could swear I do love you, I could not hold you to me against your will. Breaking this bond you did for honor will appease the guilt that yet nags at you. I could never deny you that."

He slowly looked up at her, letting her release her right hand, tilting his head into her touch as she dried the moisture from his cheek. "At least you now understand why I hid."

She let out a noise that might have passed for a weak laugh had it not been followed so quickly by a sob. "Yes," she choked out, before further noises were muffled against his chest as he drew her so tightly against him that she knew he was trying to pull her into him.


	27. Upon unnatural winds

**_Chapter 27: Upon unnatural winds _**

Pascail sighed, shaking his head as the two young ones entered the secluded room, their very stances subdued, heads bowed with the weight of the procedure at hand. "Are you both utterly sure? You are happy as you are."

Anumi was the first to look up. "Not enough," she whispered, the heartbreak in her voice enough to make him flinch, though the one beside her didn't move.

He sighed again, and motioned for them to come to the center of the room. Anumi had to take Legolas's hand to guide him, as the Prince hadn't looked up to see the gesture. Even when they reached him and stopped, Legolas's eyes didn't lift. "Look at me, Legolas," Pascail asked, understanding at once why he hadn't when the prince followed the soft command.

His eyes were that tortured light blue that Pascail so feared and hated to see.

Pascail motioned helplessly. "Look in a mirror if you don't believe this is a poor decision."

Anumi frowned at his words, a shocked hand lifting to cover her mouth when she saw Legolas's eyes. "What…"

"It only happens when greatly worried, disturbed, pained."

Anumi closed her eyes, sighing. "I already knew he was that," she whispered, gently reaching up to stroke her husband's cheek.

"It will be done, Pascail," Legolas declared, the royal command severely dampened by the rasp that was his voice, and the way his head tilted so desperately into her gentle touch.

The healer sighed, feeling old as he looked at them, knowing he could not sway them away from their path unless his next warning was new information for them. Which, knowing how meticulous the Prince was in matters of great interest or importance, he very much doubted. "You know it will be very painful."

"It's bloody well painful now," Legolas hissed, turning slightly from them. Anumi shifted to lay her hands on his back, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"But the pain you feel now shall be nothing compared to forcibly ripping your souls apart."

"Pascail," Anumi sighed, shaking her head. "It will be done."

Deflated, he nodded. "Very well," he agreed. "You know you should not see or talk to each other for many days or weeks after being unbound?"

"Why?"

"Because it will cause you more pain and distress. You will feel empty, unbalanced… seeing the other without _feeling_ them will only make it worse."

Legolas nodded. "We've a schedule, of sorts… though Anumi was hesitant," he added, explaining her need for explanation, when he'd already known and planned for it.

Defeat welled up within the healer's heart. He closed his eyes, and spread his hands, giving up. "I will fasten your restraints when you are ready."

"Restraints?" they questioned sharply.

"Of course. You will be hurt because you are being pulled apart at your seams. You will naturally try to return to each other. If you are touching, if you are close enough to share breath, share blood, you are close enough to reinitiate the bond even as I sunder it. You could do damage a number of ways. You could bind yourselves permanently, which I would not be against but you two seem to be. You could twist your souls attempting such—you could bend them beyond repair, and send yourselves straight to Grief. You may anyway."

At his words, they looked around the room, seeing the chains and cloth awaiting them. Slowly they made their way to their respective sides. Anumi crouched down to lightly touch one cuff with a trembling finger while Legolas stood over his, staring down with tightly clenched fists.

Before Pascail knew it was happening they were back in the center of the room, clutching one another desperately. Legolas's face was buried in the crook of her shoulder, holding her body tightly above the floor, her head back as silent tears streaked her cheeks and ran down her throat, her legs twined with and around his, one arm curved around his head to hold him to her as her lips parted in a soundless cry of utmost agony and despair.

He almost refused to continue right then and there. But he knew his prince, and knew they were both determined to see this through. Misguided youths—both wishing not to hurt the other, and willing to risk everything to set right a wrong that no longer seemed at all wrong.

If he refused, Legolas would turn to another, and he was the only one left on these shores who had performed this dreadful act before.

Last time, though, both had wanted to be unbound, as their parents had pressed for the binding initially, and she'd found a better match in a stranger. Pascail hadn't chained her at all, and only simply restrained her mate, as he was a little less certain, mostly because of the pain involved.

This time…

He sighed once more, and felt bad at once as the soft noise seemed to draw them out of their anguish, sending them slowly back to their chains. Legolas dropped to the floor with astonishingly uncharacteristic inelegance, letting his head fall against the stone wall with an audible thud.

Anumi turned at the sound, her eyes dark as she slowly lowered herself to the floor, every movement obviously going painfully against everything she wanted to do.

"Are you ready to be restrained?" he asked gently.

Legolas inclined his head shortly, Anumi nodding much more slowly.

With a sigh, he moved to her first, knowing from Legolas's tightly closed eyes and resolute nod that he would remain seated longer than Anumi could manage at the moment. He wrapped each cuff with cloth, then snapped them around her wrists, filling the gap with another strip of soft material, before doing the same to the larger band that was regretfully closed over her neck. He checked the padding carefully, then the length on the chain, before wrapping the final length of chain around her waist.

Backing away slowly, he waited to see what Legolas's response would be.

It didn't take long.

Legolas' eyes slit open, then widened quickly, pupils dilating. In a scramble he was crouched before her, brushing at her sudden tears with fingers that shook. His entire body was shaking, fine tremors wracking his body as he pressed against her, nuzzling her cheek, pressing small kisses to her throat, her cheek, ear, temple, brow while his hands ghosted along the restraints, testing them unconsciously for weakness, prying thoughtlessly for her release.

Pascail swallowed tightly, silently hoping against hope that Legolas would finish this before he could, praying for the prince to lose his mind for a moment and simply kiss her. Even the lightest brush of their lips would suffice—and if not, a band of trolls couldn't beat that information out of him.

But Legolas dropped his head, the hands curled over shoulder and jaw slowly easing. He brushed his cheek to hers before rising shakily, turning back to his own chains. He paused when she reached for him, the scrape of metal and stone betraying the move though he couldn't see it.

The indecision on his face was painful to witness. Pascail bit his tongue harshly and drew bitter blood.

With a great shudder, Legolas continued, his head dropped to his chest in defeat when he was against the wall once more.

Disappointed, dispirited, Pascail moved to him and began wrapping his restraints.

"No."

Pascail frowned. "But, your highness, you—"

"I'd rather have that pain to focus on," was the quiet response.

With a sigh, Pascail slowly fastened the cold cuffs, considering against the one for the Prince's neck before a steely look from painfully light blue eyes prodded him on. When it was done he rose unsteadily, and swore to hide all knowledge of this possibility from the world at large. Healers should know when such was advisable, and shouldn't advise for it save when the two involved would not be so painfully affected. The books would be discovered, retrieved, and hidden within the healer's library alone, all warned of the inherent danger this task held—for the mates to be torn asunder, and the healer performing the separation.

Especially dangerous when one was a warrior who could kill bare-handed with ease.

He moved back to the center of the room, and checked one last time that everything he would need was at hand. He was doubly glad, now, that he'd prepared for an emergency, of sorts.

He would certainly be using that preparation, and thanking Eru for it. Otherwise, he would never have been able to handle the guilt… if his spirit would have been strong enough.

After stirring many things together, he added some wine and took the preparation to Anumi, coaxing her to drink. Legolas followed, his eyes wary and very pale. Pascail finished the preparation off and set the chalice aside, kneeling before the reference he had memorized long ago, hoping to never need the knowledge.

He began slowly, hoping against everything that they would stop him before it couldn't be stopped. But that moment passed, and he steeled himself against any noise, any movement.

He steeled himself, but he heard them. Looked straight ahead as he chanted, as he pulled at the essences of being that swirled around them, but he still saw them.

Anumi was mostly screaming until she lost breath, then again when she drew more. Legolas, cursing in dwarvish, in three dialects of the elven tongue, in two forms of language used by humans. Ordering him to stop, threatening his head and his freedom if he denied him.

When he began calling to Anumi, his voice hoarse, desperate and longing, Pascail swallowed tightly before continuing. The sickly scent of blood was in the air, carried upon unnatural winds, and he could feel the far worse agony of the souls he was coaxing apart, pulling at the bindings, turning them from where they'd been so perfectly mated.

Souls, once so bound, were not meant to be separated once more.

At the crucial moment, he used the change offered by the additional herbs he'd placed in the chalice, his powerful words, and then allowed himself to fall back against the floor, nearly senseless from the terrible strain of the task and the emotions. The two elves he'd 'healed' or killed slumped insensate the moment he stopped speaking. He gathered himself as quickly as he could, drinking a restorative draught from his own flask, and prepared another potion, taking it to Anumi, then Legolas, coaxing the substance down their throats after tilting their heads back.

He grimaced despite himself when he first really looked at Legolas once the last of the ritual was completed. Anumi would be bruised from straining against the cuffs, and bruised badly. Legolas, however, had managed to break open the skin of his neck and wrists several times over, the skin ragged and inflamed, blood welling and making the metal slippery.

He quickly opened the cuff on the unconscious prince's right hand, wrapping one of the disparaged cloths tightly to staunch the troublingly forceful flow of blood.

Legolas, in his desperation to reach the mate being torn from him, had managed to worry so strongly at the cuffs that he'd torn open a major vein. There was a disturbing amount of blood already lost.

Pascail had to hope that his self-healing abilities held him in good stead, because he would need them… and this was the one time in his life when they might well be negatively affected by his emotional state.

With a sigh he shook his head, removed the rest of the cuffs and wished he had time to bandage the wounds. Instead of indulging his healer's instincts, he followed orders, and released Anumi from her own cuffs, wincing at the deep color already blooming on the translucent skin of her wrists.

He carried her silently through the doors Legolas had told him about, finding himself in the room he'd been instructed to put her in. He laid her down quickly, not really surprised to find that, although the bed he'd passed to get her there wasn't touched, this one had been carefully turned down.

He lit a candle and then left, returning to the other patient with soul-deep wounds. He remembered to turn the blankets back before he did, and once the prince was as settled as he could be, he remembered to lock the doors and slide the small key into a hidden pouch sewn onto his belt.


	28. In the heart of an elven stronghold

**_Chapter 28: In the heart of an elven stronghold _**

Pain. Pain so intense it stole his breath and all will to fight he could muster, especially when he wasn't certain he wished to fight.

Legolas's eyes snapped open as his last conscious memory assaulted him, tensing his body.

He relaxed it slowly, automatically making a quick check of his wounds once he recognized his location. His wrists were sore, along with his neck, and his throat felt like he'd been gargling sand for a few hours, both parched and abraded. He also hadn't the strength to move. He was completely and utterly drained.

He'd been worse.

He closed his eyes, but quickly opened them again.

With his eyes closed, he had nothing to focus on. Nothing…

Nothing that he wanted to focus on, or even remotely wanted to think about, to consider.

A faint noise left his torn throat, pain welling up from deep within him once more, overcoming control and exhaustion. His body arched mindlessly, twisting in a futile attempt to escape the agony until a solid hand pressed him down, giving him something to focus on.

He stared at the face above him for a long, dazed moment before his eyes focused and his mind cleared enough that he recognized the elf. He started to speak, but found himself unable.

"Drink this."

A cup was lifted to his chin.

Legolas turned his head slightly, the cup moving around with him so he could reach it without sitting up. He doubted he'd be able to.

He hesitated when he recognized the scents being given off by the tea. Normally he would ignore such a brew no matter what state his wounds were in.

The wounds most bothering him, though, could not be seen, nor half so easily ignored.

"Drink it. You need to heal physically, Prince Legolas, or the torn and bleeding emptiness within you will not matter for long."

With a grimace he wasn't sure he suppressed he accepted the tea, soon feeling the soothing numbness wash over him, though it seemed less potent than in the past.

As a small bonus, the liquid and numbness soothed his throat enough to allow him to speak. "Anumi—" He broke off in shock at the weak rasp that left him, his eyes widening. He started to clear his throat to try again.

Pascail lifted a hand to stop his attempt, and smiled wearily. "She awoke not long ago, and was also coaxed to drink."

"How…"

With a sigh, the healer moved the disheveled pillows around so his patient was not propped so awkwardly any longer. "You know well how she is, Prince Legolas. You felt the same."

Legolas turned his chin slightly. "Heal physically?" he asked at length.

"Yes. Your order against lining the cuffs nearly killed you. You ravaged your wrists, fighting to get free. The loss of blood slowed your healing rather badly… I had hoped you would wake yesterday."

That did explain why they hurt with a dulled ache, and why he felt so hopelessly weak. "My voice?"

"You yelled yourself hoarse. She can't speak at all… or she won't."

Again Legolas turned slightly away. "Did it work?"

"Obviously it did," Pascail sighed. "As you can no longer feel her, sense her." He patted the prince's head absently. "Any emotional attachment you now feel is suspect, as you no doubt know. If you still feel this great concern for her, over your own welfare, once the pain of having your soul ripped apart has eased to bearable limits, then you may rest assured that they are true."

Legolas closed his eyes again. "The tea?"

"I will provide it for the first week, while you both heal. After that, you must face this."

Legolas shook his head. "I will not accept it that long… but let her choose when she faces this. She has nearly faded already…"

"She is in my care, prince. I will care for her."

Legolas nodded slightly. "How is she?"

Pascail smiled ruefully. "Her wrists are swollen so badly she cannot move her fingers any more than can you. She broke a rib pulling against the chain, so moving is painful. I need to check on her again, give her more tea. If you are still awake when I return, we can speak more while I check your wounds."

Pascail rose as Legolas sighed, shaking his head wearily.

At the door to Anumi's room he paused only long enough to unlock it, locking it again behind him.

She turned to him, her eyes desperate. "He is awake?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

When he nodded, she turned onto her side, curling herself tightly even as she winced in pain.

He hesitated only briefly when she began to cry, great sobs silently wracking her body. He quickly prepared another infusion of herbs to speed the healing of bruises and bones, to numb pain and emotions.

As the water heated by the fire, he sat above her head, stroking her hair lightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered when she calmed enough to remember his existence, to listen to his heart-felt words.

She shook her head faintly. "Not your doing, not your fault."

"It _was_ my doing."

"No," she said shakily, taking a shuddering breath. "It is Dalidan's. He told my father of the possibility, my father threw that knowledge at Legolas, uncertain of our binding… What could he do, when he found it was true? All along he has not wished to be bound to me in such a fashion…"

"You know that is not true. You two were quite happy together."

"Were we? Or was I? I was happy, yes. Happy loving him and being loved by him… but he was not happy. He couldn't have been."

"Anumi," he clipped sharply. "You _know_ that isn't true."

"Do I? Or was it just that he reflected my emotions so well?"

"How do you know that he reflected yours? What if you reflected his, instead? How could you know?"

She stilled, the harshness of her breathing slowly easing. She made a noise that might almost have passed for a laugh under other circumstances. "Thank you, Pascail. This is so very hard. I needed to hear that."

He smiled and combed his fingers through her hair again. "I'll be here. What you felt when bound to him was only and utterly the truth. You were happy. Happy together, happy _being_ together. Whether the emotions were created by the bond or through it, the end is the same—you were happy together."

"And now we're miserable together, yet far from together," she whispered, staring blindly at the dark bruises on her fair skin. "I feel like I've lost my heart," she admitted softly.

"You knew this would be hard."

"I knew. He knew. But we didn't _know_."

He sighed. "No. How could anyone know? You've lost your mate, but he lies alive in the next room. That is a pain worse than being separated by death. Being separated in life…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

She closed her eyes. "I thought… when I woke up before, I felt so empty, and so very, very alone… I thought that was going to be the worst, the absolute worst of it. That with time, I would get better, and feel less and less like I had lost a part of myself. An important part. I thought I would fill the gap with _myself_, my own wants, desires, memories, emotions…"

Pascail frowned slightly, looking at her with deep concern, trying to ignore the small part of him that was always a healer above all else which was clinically interested in her words. He forced that thought away, looking again at his patient.

"Instead, it seems I shall always know I'm missing something, something I shall never again find. There will always be a hole inside of me, blazoned with his name. The pain before is nothing to the pain of knowing that he's now awake, aware, pained, and _I can't feel him_." Her eyes squeezed tightly together, unheeded tears slipping soundlessly down, traveling over her nose to drip onto her hands.

Pascail sighed, and reconsidered the task that he'd spent several hours completing, while waiting their awakenings. Perhaps he should burn all of the books with this knowledge, instead of hoarding them away for the healers alone to read.

"How was he? How have his wounds healed?"

Pascail shook his head. "I have told you the damage he sustained."

"Yes… but how was he? His wounds have little to do with how he was, nor how they've healed."

He rested a soothing hand on her shoulder, and looked over at the brewing tea. He would have to dilute it, now that it had been given so much time to steep. "I gave him the tea, almost immediately after he woke."

"But he's too strong—"

"He has remarkable control over himself and his emotions normally, true. But this is not a normal situation, and he was in one of the few places he allows himself to relax. His control lasted only long enough to remember, though he tried not to for some time."

Her breath hitched. "And his healing?"

"Is slowed."

She cursed under her breath.

His eyes widened. "Did you just curse?"

"If any time called for it…" she grumbled.

"Well, yes… but in a dwarvish tongue?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him so sadly the slight lightening of his spirits their awakenings had given him fled. "What other tongue allows such privacy in the heart of an elven stronghold?"

He closed his eyes, patted her head and stood, pouring the dark tea into a cup, diluting it until the color was right. He brought it to her silently.

She shook her head. "I'd rather not go numb again. I'll survive this."

"In a few days, perhaps. But for now, drink it before the earlier cup has a chance to wear off."

Her eyes widened, fear and panic writ clearly across them as she slowly sat up, staring at him in disbelief. "It hasn't worn off?" she asked, her voice shrill as a rasp could ever be.

He shook his head. "No, my dear. The pain and agony you're enduring is what the calming draught cannot help—it can only do so much."

She whimpered faintly, but took the cup. "But I felt better before."

"I added another ingredient to allow peaceful rest—but it is not good for the body to use that herb often. Legolas no doubt sleeps on its influence now, but will wake in the same state you have found yourself in."

She brought the cup to her lips, before hesitating. "Pascail…"

"Yes?"

"He will try to deny using this."

"He already has."

"Don't let him. Please? He's stubborn and independent, but please, make him take it until things aren't so bad."

"He is in my care, as are you. I shall care for the both of you, until this is sorted out as it should be."

She looked at him for a long moment, but unlike her sleeping counterpart, didn't mistake him. "Thank you, Pascail. I know I would be lost, if left alone."

"Which is why you shall not be left alone," he stated firmly, before motioning at her tea.

She smiled faintly, and drank the tea.


	29. Nothing left to bleed

Hi, everyone! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who reviewed-- I really appreciate the support! 

Also, I realized that this chapter doesn't explain itself very well to start with, so rather than respond to a bunch of 'huh? hoe much time has passed?'s, I'll put it at the front. The unbinding occured a few months previously.

* * *

**_Chapter 29: Nothing left to bleed _**

Anumi quirked a curious brow as Legolas's eyes tightened slightly around the edges. "What's the matter?" she asked.

He looked sharply at her, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

"Well, excuse me for reading you!"

He snorted, then waved the message that had been delivered, though he didn't toss it to her as he might otherwise have done. "For some reason Glorfindel has decided to visit."

Her brow lifted again. "And this irritates you? You and he are friends."

Legolas folded the letter, tucking it into his tunic. "He has never visited before. There is much to do and little time—an escort must be sent, rooms prepared, a feast organized…"

"You know he wouldn't care about a feast, nor about fancy rooms. Give him a bed and food and I'm sure he'd be content."

"Politics, Anumi."

She shook her head. "Has breaking the binding broken all of our promises, as well?" With an irritated flick of her wrist she snapped the book she'd been browsing shut, letting it land with a solid thud on the table beside her as she stood up.

She noted the tension in Legolas's shoulders as she passed, and mentally shook her head, trying to switch her mind to considering something mundane… like where to get the color she needed for the tapestry she was working on.

Her brain and feet stuttered to a halt as a hand wrapped her wrist.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. "Pardon? I'm not sure I heard that right."

He let his head loll back to look at her from the awkward angle given by the chair. "I'm sorry—and you're right. We promised to be honest. It's just been… hard."

Hard? Hard didn't begin to cover it. Some part of her still considered him hers, and it was very hard to dissuade it. It was so difficult to see him going about life normally, knowing that he could be meeting any number of ladies and she would never know—he certainly wouldn't tell her, deeming it not her business, and she wouldn't feel it.

She hadn't realized how much she knew through their connection, until she was trying to gauge his moods without it.

He was such a mercurial creature, and but rarely gave himself away.

The hand around her arm loosened, the hold so gentle the slightest movement would have broken it.

She considered heading into her room without a further word, wondered if she could handle another rejection… even as she gave in and opened her mouth. "Why does his visit displease you?"

He closed his eyes, the muscles of his jaw tightening as his fingers curled almost savagely around her wrist. An instant later his fingers eased, his thumb soothing over the reddened skin. "I'm an elf, Anumi. I have a good memory." He spoke shortly, sharply, and rose abruptly before she could gather herself to question him. "I have much to begin, if things are to be ready by his arrival."

She stared at the door for a long time after it had closed behind him. She swallowed tightly, a bitter laugh ripping through. "What does it matter?" she asked the empty room.

She well remembered her first—and only—kiss. But when Glorfindel had withdrawn, the line had been set, and she would never cross it. As time went on, she found him to be a dear and treasured friend…

But she could never imagine him taking Legolas's place.

Though it seemed a place Legolas didn't want, as he'd said virtually nothing to her since the unbinding nearly a season past.

With a sigh she shook her head at the hopelessness of it all, and slipped through one of the hidden passages from the main room, heading aimlessly through the halls. She'd expected she'd end up in the library, so she wasn't really surprised when she did.

"Princess. How lovely to find you here."

Internally, where once there would have been a shudder, there was only a cold stillness. "Dalidan," she replied.

He quirked a brow. "You do not seem pleased, Princess."

"It has been a long day."

"So you seek a book to soothe you. A wise decision. Mightn't I suggest something to you?" he asked, moving with serpentine grace among the stacks. He withdrew a dusty tome and returned, offering it much as a soldier might have offered his sword.

Numbly, she took it.

He frowned. "Are you well?"

A faint, bitter smile turned her lips at his concern. "No. And I never shall be, thank you." She turned to leave.

"Anumi—it is a good book. Perhaps it will hold the answers you seek."

She almost corrected him, wanting to bite him with sharpness as she demanded he address her properly…but recalled she didn't really have a claim to the title Princess anymore. So she simply left, retracing her steps quickly. She'd hoped to meet no one as she wandered, and met the one she least wished instead.

She wasn't going to take her chances on avoiding conversation if she allowed herself to wander any farther, and her current mood was not conducive to politeness.

Once in her room she looked listlessly down at the book.

She snorted. "Trying to trap me, were you?" she grumbled. The book was written in the high tongue, one so rarely used only a select few could actually speak or read it any longer.

Her father had insisted she know it.

Naturally, the Royal Family knew it, so his insistence had held her well…

With a sigh she glared at the title stamped in faded leather. "So… Pascail missed you… I thought most healers read the high tongue? Perhaps Lord Sorial had translated most of the books of healing knowledge into our common tongue, so the healers didn't have to learn a language they could otherwise never use…"

She closed her eyes. She'd been talking to herself more often now, and she really didn't like it. It felt like another slide down a steep and muddy slope, one she'd had firm purchase upon once, long ago…

She shook herself, and for her own amusement, opened the book.

How could it hurt her? Her soul was already ripped and ragged, her heart on the edge of breaking beyond any repair. There was nothing left to bleed.

Much of what she read would have been new, had she not had access to Legolas's astonishingly vast store of herbal knowledge for so long. It had come in handy often, though she had always tried to talk him into seeing someone with more experience… as she had none. Just his knowledge, his guidance.

It had always been enough.

She passed the sections about bonds, returning to them only after finishing the rest of the book.

"Princess?" a soft knock accompanied the query.

"Andun," she sighed.

He entered with a small, faintly apologetic smile. "Anumi. Are you hungry?"

She smiled warily, but shook her head. "No. I'm sorry Andun."

He sighed, folding his hands together. "Anumi… are you alright?"

"Andun, do not worry. I shall be fine in time." Well, it wasn't a lie. She'd either get over Legolas or she'd die. Either way… in time, she'd be fine. Not well, perhaps, but fine.

"I'll bring you a plate," he decided, turning quickly. "His highness has gotten finicky about his food recently, too, but at least he eats," he grumbled under his breath.

She felt bad for worrying him, especially as she knew he took extra effort to coax her favorite foods from the cooks, but she simply wasn't hungry. Every meal, though, because he'd gone through such trial for her, she ate, though sparingly.

Pascail would have praised Andun, no doubt.

Once he'd delivered her meal, bringing it onto the bed beside her instead of on the table set up for that purpose, he left, leaving her alone with the book once more.

She absently took a bit of bread from the tray, nibbling as she read the section on binding, but her movements stopped when she got to the unbinding.

With a frown, she reread the list of ingredients and words given, sure she was mistaken.

When the list remained the same, along with the time-honored words, she cast herself back into that room after a long moment to reconsider.

A moment she disdained, too curious about what had actually happened to heed the onslaught of pain the memory would bring.

She opened her eyes, felt the soft bindings again tightly pressing into her wrists, the slight suffocation offered by the cuff around her neck, keeping her from using her teeth on any flesh she could have otherwise reached. The chain around her middle held her fast, offering another measure of safety—not letting her stray far enough from the wall to risk being hurt by the cuff around her throat.

She disassociated herself from the pain as well as she could… which wasn't nearly as well as she could have wished. Still, a memory's pain is rarely at the same intensity as the experience.

She watched Legolas being restrained, biting her lip against the cry for him to allow the cuffs to be lined—she'd seen the marks weeks later, and knew from Pascail's grim expression how bad they had really been.

Now she turned her head aside, as the memory darkened—her eyes had closed against seeing the reality around her.

It was the next bit of time she was interested in the most, and a sense other than her eyes.

When the chalice was brought to her lips, she slowed, broke down the scents, allowing herself time and time again to untangle the herbs and minerals ground together to bring their souls to bear.

Her eyes opened, and she skipped to the end, searching the contents of the last drink she'd been given before her next memory was waking in her room.

She let out a sharp cry at the resurging agony, then bit her lip hard to silence herself in case Legolas was in his room.

When she was sure of what she'd been given, of what she'd heard, she allowed herself to tremble for a long while, until the pain had receded.

Then, she was unable to contain herself.

She bolted from the bed, ran so quickly for the exit she used most often that she ran into the panel before it could move for her, and then fumbled her key.

Finally she was in the halls, and raced down dark passages she knew from her childhood running beside her mother—they'd never run into anyone, never been stopped, never been seen.

The paths were almost never used, so running was acceptable, a taste of something almost forbidden—Ladies, running in the dark, running in secret, running away from everything behind them.

Her mother may have ran from her father, but she was running towards something. Something, she'd found in these last months, that was very important to her.

She slowed and checked her eagerness at the first large path, walking sedately down the halls until she reached the wing where most healers were often found.

"Princess? Are you in need of assistance?"

She smiled faintly, and shook her head slightly. "I found an interesting book of herbs, and wished to speak on it with Pascail… I'm afraid my feet rather got ahead of me."

The healer smiled, and shook her head. "I doubt he's busy right now. I'll check for you. You might be more comfortable in here," she added, showing Anumi into a room where healers often shooed the extra family and friends of their patients.

Before long at all, Pascail returned alone. "Anumi? What is it?"

She took a deep breath, and met his eyes, her own expressing both fear and fury. "What did you do?"


	30. Even if no romance at all

You know, the more reviews I got for last chapter, the more evil I felt! I wasn't meaning to be, honest!

That said... (ducks and runs for cover) don't kill me!

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 30: Even if no romance at all _**

Kirilan sat back in his chair, watching the goings on with mounting confusion. Glorfindel's arrival had not, by any stretch of the imagination, been secret. Indeed, more elves had turned out once the whisper of his arrival was heard than had been seen since his nephew's presentation.

Glorfindel had taken it all in stride, requesting only that dinner that evening be a more secluded, subdued affair—which was fine, and not at all a surprising request. Legolas had planned for it, merely waiting for the Lord's arrival to determine if it would be a family meal with the Lord, or a tray sent to his rooms.

The addition to their family meal was made graciously, but without seeming something that required graciousness to accommodate. Legolas's coordination provided such seamlessly, with but a glance at the lad he and Anumi had chosen as their own servant.

He had a feeling it was mostly Anumi's doing, to take on any servant, but the fact that Legolas went along with it had said a lot.

Now, though…

His thoughts turned inward, looking back over the past months. They'd been very happy, and he had gotten used to having another sister, all thoughts of her as a potential something more vanquished beneath seeing how very well she and his brother came together.

But then, something had changed. He wasn't sure when, exactly, because they were never the most out-going of elves when given the chance, and had avoided others for a time. Nor did he have any idea _what_.

When things returned somewhat to normal, there was something… gone. Something that had been between them was missing, or hidden. They acted much the same, but he thought, at times, that he saw a little bit of tension within them, as if they were merely awaiting some big climactic event, and had no idea how it would go.

Or so it had seemed to him, until word of Glorfindel's arrival.

Anumi had relaxed, the slight smiles becoming larger, her eyes beginning to sparkle as he only then realized they hadn't been.

Seeing her come to life made it painfully apparent things had not been, _were not_ well between them.

And every hint of her recovery seemed to make the strain in Legolas more pronounced, though he hid it as well as he always had. Now, in fact, Kirilan only knew he was troubled because he never bothered about moving that one bit of hair back. Usually, it was an easy, absent gesture to resettle it back into place.

Tonight he did nothing.

That lock stayed before his eyes, slashing through the dark left one, hiding him, just a little.

His unnatural stillness said a lot, to Kirilan, at least. Legolas hadn't moved since Glorfindel had greeted Anumi.

'Why on Arda have you come, Glorfindel?'

'I got the feeling, whilst reading your letters, that you could use a friend. But you seem well enough, now.'

Yes, it was after that when Legolas had withdrawn more fully than he'd been before. And it was when Kirilan noticed this that the pieces began to fall into place.

Or, he hoped they had.

After dinner the family headed back to the royal wing, using a direct passage there that wasn't as secret as the others. A dozen servants and several guards knew about it, at least.

Anumi drew Glorfindel away, or he drew her away—Kirilan was too far away to hear what was going on, but they talked quietly for a few minutes, and then excused themselves, leaving a different way.

Legolas didn't watch them go… and said nothing.

With a sigh, Kirilan hesitated, but followed his elder brother to a small, private version of the larger crystal garden that was off of the main hall. He closed the door behind him, lowering the latch.

While the latch could be opened from either side of the door, it's lowered state worked as well as any ten locks—it would only be moved if there was a true emergency. His family enjoyed their privacy immensely, since they were granted it so rarely.

Finding Legolas was the work of a few, lazy minutes. He could, no doubt, have completed that task with a few breaths, but chose to offer a little bit of time.

Legolas would have heard the door close, and hearing it close would indicate the latch had also gone down. He wasn't slow, even when distracted. "What is it, Kirilan?" he asked softly as soon as Kirilan turned the corner.

"May I sit down, first?" Kirilan asked, lifting a brow.

"As you wish," Legolas agreed quietly, leaning his head back against a pale crystal of murky pink.

Some conversations had to be undergone eye to eye. Some would never begin if they were.

He sat beside Legolas, letting his head find a semi-comfortable niche in the sculpted crystals that were too clouded or impure to catch light and enhance the slight shades that worked through the fissures in the rock to reach them.

After a long silence, Legolas shifted his right leg a bit, indicating some impatience.

Belatedly, Kirilan remembered he'd been asked a question. "I don't know what it is, elder brother," he said at length.

Legolas looked at him sharply, then looked away again. "You don't know," he repeated slowly.

"No."

Legolas exhaled sharply. "Many, many times we have sat here," he mused.

Kirilan smiled faintly when Legolas gave up the direct method, settling back instead into the old pattern. "Yes, we have. Always thus, and yet… never thus."

"Not very poetic, little brother."

"My heart is too ill for poetry."

Another quick glance. "Have I missed something so important?" he asked, sounding a bit lost—which was very unusual.

"You have always been here, when I needed you. When I needed someone to listen to my youthful angst. No doubt you could have offered a thousand stories of deeper pain than those you were forced to listen to, but you never did."

"I was never 'forced' to listen."

"You listened because you wanted to help me, because you love me," Kirilan said quietly.

Silence was his only reply, but for Kirilan, it was affirmation enough.

"And so, we are here again."

"So we are," Legolas agreed softly. "And we have gone through the informal structure, the stating of affection and history. You are my brother, and I, yours. Our love has never waned, and never shall, though well may it grow. Brothers in blood, history and heart. So, little brother, what is it? Speak."

Kirilan listened wistfully. It had been many long years since they were here last, but this air was always created. Legolas created it—he always had. From the days when he was trying not to cry about being too small or too clumsy to keep up or do as his brother did, to that terrible time after his mother died… Legolas had always managed to make him feel like not only could he say anything, and know he would not be ridiculed, would not find someone else knew of his confidence, but that somehow, Legolas would make it better.

As the years passed, as they had a habit of doing, he found himself tracking Legolas down here less and less often, preferring to work things through himself, or knowing the problems were not as bad as he would have made out. It was his own sheepishness at being unable to catch Anumi's attention that had kept Legolas from hearing about her here, several years past.

"I have a very dear friend, elder brother," he started, seeing the slight tilt to Legolas's eyes indicating a smile suppressed. "One who was very happy, not long ago. He loved his wife and she loved him, their peace radiating out to warm any who saw them together."

Legolas frowned, making Kirilan smile.

"There is no problem there, and nothing to upset me," Kirilan mused. "I was… envious, and a bit bitter at first, but was so overcome by their joy that I could not help but be glad for them. But something changed. Their joy vanished. The peace faded, strained tension taking its place, though they've hidden that fairly well."

"A fight, perhaps."

"I don't believe so. A simple fight could not harm them so—they are both too strong."

"What else could it be? They've had a fight, being rather newly bound. It does happen." Legolas turned to him in mild amusement.

"It may… but did it?"

Legolas smiled faintly. "You're asking me?"

"Yes."

He snorted. "Why would I know?"

"Because, elder brother… you are my only very dear friend. I've many friends, of course, but…"

The blood drained from Legolas's face. Then he shook his head with a small smile. "There is nothing wrong, Kirilan."

"Don't lie."

The smile faded.

"As I said," Kirilan mused. "We have sat here many times, just like this… yet not like this." He tilted his head aside. "You are older than I—always have been and always will. When I was younger I didn't understand that you came here because of your own troubles. I do now." He lowered his eyes. "It should not have taken me this long to take my place in this brotherhood." He looked up with determination. "I will not fail you," he promised, before saying the words that, in some similar form though many incarnations, had started their sessions. "You are my brother, and I, yours. Our love has never waned, and never shall, though well may it grow, if we are as blessed as we have been. Brothers in blood, history and heart. So, elder brother, what is it? Speak."

Legolas stared at him for a long moment, before closing his eyes, his head hanging as his features twisted in pain. "I am torn."

"What's happened, dear brother?"

Legolas sat back again with a sigh. "You know how the binding began. You saw… you saw we accepted it, with time."

"I saw you embrace it," Kirilan agreed.

"Hmm." Legolas grimaced. "You remember the promise I asked of you."

"Keeping Dalidan from being alone with her." Kirilan inclined his head.

"I asked that for a reason."

"I assumed it was because he's kind of a creep."

Legolas smiled. "No… and yes. He… feels _something_ for her, and did not like my place with her."

Kirilan's features contorted. _"Dalidan?"_

Legolas chuckled raspily. "Yes, Dalidan. He went to some trouble to break us apart…"

"But a bond cannot be broken."

Legolas looked at him solemnly.

"What?" Kirilan breathed, eyes widening. "A bond _can_…"

Realization hit, and he felt cold, dizziness making him close his eyes.

"You didn't. By Eru, Legolas, tell me you didn't give up your happiness for your blasted pride."

Legolas looked away.

Kirilan shook his head and got to his feet, pacing angrily. "You love her."

"Do I?"

"Of course you do."

"But the bond—"

"Would not create emotions that weren't there."

"Wouldn't it?" Legolas asked savagely. "When we stretched its 'bounds', didn't it create the anguish and heartache that we suffered?"

Kirilan sighed. "Legolas… you idiot."

Legolas blinked.

"What is a bond?"

"The joining of souls."

"Exactly. Yes, there is magic involved, but then again, anything that involves us will—for we are of magic. A binding is simply that. A connection of souls. Have you never known of a mother binding herself to an injured child, to save its life? They are not wed, of course, but there is a sharing, and a binding of the souls—a 'soul-sharing', nothing more. Dear friends sometimes do the same. It offers a connection, that is all. Such a bond can be made easily, requiring no ceremony or other aids. Anything more than that mild connection, anything that caused joy or pain or anguish… was the two of you. Your souls striking out at anything that threatened your bond. There never needed to be anything more to it than that."

Legolas shook his head in confusion. "Then… why didn't you say something immediately?"

"Because I couldn't, Legolas. I assumed you knew… and that you'd decided to name her Princess because any female bound to you would be assumed your lover, and you'd prefer to title her over letting her be considered nothing more than a mistress, or less." He sighed, and looked away. "Besides, when you bound her to you, you bound her beyond the slight healing, beyond any friendship…making it truly a wedding of souls… making her your wife, in a way few do, anymore. There is a reason the old rite has gotten a passing—a reason ceremony became prevalent."

Legolas shook his head. "How could I have done that without knowing how to do it? I merely wanted…" He stopped, grimacing.

"Wanted?"

"Wanted to make sure I didn't make myself a husband and a widower in the same day."

Kirilan inclined his head. "You wanted her as your wife."

"I… I wanted her to live."

"Yes," Kirilan agreed distractedly.

Legolas's focus suddenly sharpened on him. "Kirilan?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking?"

Kirilan snorted. "That you couldn't have bound and been bound in turn, had the propensity not already been there."

"What? Kirilan, she and I—"

He held up a hand. "I know you never would have done anything, knowing how I felt… or perhaps how I thought I felt. That's a moot point, now."

"It isn't."

"It is," Kirilan retorted sharply, glaring at his seated brother. "Because you love her." He closed his eyes. "And even if you didn't, I do—as a sister."

"She and I did not love each other. Nor even like each other."

"But was there an attraction, Legolas? Something you probably didn't even really notice, something dismissed at once… because of me?"

Legolas thought back, before slowly, reluctantly, inclining his head in agreement. "She… was a fighter, though her battle was winding down… she respected me, but not to the exclusion of being who she was. Yes, she interested me. But interest is a far cry from love."

"For the mind. For the heart. But the soul, Legolas… who are we to say? Mere immortals, and children in such matters."

Legolas snorted, and got to his feet. "Who are we to say?" he echoed, before running a hand through his hair. "And what does it matter? It is over. She is happy now, with Glorfindel here."

Kirilan snorted. "It was not Glorfindel she was bound to."

"By no one's choice."

"So you would go back to ignoring your souls? You _love_ her, by Eru! How many times and how many ways must I say it?" He threw his hands up in frustration, pacing again. "Your eyes follow her, you always look after her—her needs, her desires… Legolas, you put her freedom over everything you wanted, and you doubt you love her?"

Legolas turned sharply, thrusting Kirilan backwards, their collision stopped abruptly by a large crystal, which shifted in protest. "I know I love her!" He exhaled, shaking his head as he let Kirilan go, standing idly once more. "I know I do, Kirilan, I've known for months."

"Then why do you do nothing? The tension between you is not one of unrequited love—you have not spoken."

"Of course not."

Kirilan's eyes drifted closed, and he exhaled carefully, fingers curling into a fist. "Why not?" he hissed.

"Because…" Legolas trailed off and finally shook his head, moving to the wall. He faced it for some time, before lifting his hand absently, pressing his palm to the rough surface. "We loved each other, because the bond told us we were happy being together."

"You were happy—"

"Silence."

Kirilan blinked in shock… but shut up.

Legolas slowly shook his head. "If you do not let me say this now, I'll never be able to explain. I fear I shan't be able to, anyway."

Kirilan made a small noise that meant nothing, but served to encourage continuance.

"From the beginning, we felt better, more at peace, when we were with one another. You remember her not being comfortable in your arms—even mostly asleep she wanted me. And I—even as I said my final farewells to Lindril… I wanted to be with her. Lindril was just a distraction, something between me and what I wanted. A few days before, she'd been what I looked forward to in Imladris. But by then… nothing. I was shattered when I felt Glorfindel touch her, and our fight left me feeling worst than anything I've encountered from blade or bow. When we were together, calmly, we were rewarded."

"Is there anything wrong with that?"

"I don't like being treated like a bloody donkey! Go stand here, be rewarded with a lump of sugar. Go over there, and be beaten. And it was so much worse, Kirilan, for it was not a physical reward nor a physical beating. It toyed with my heart, my emotions, my ­_mind_… until I didn't know if I was coming or going, if I loved her or had only been trained to think I must…"

Silence fell, and Kirilan watched his brother—his proud head hung despondently, a fist clenched against his chest. "But you know now that you loved her. That you _love_ her."

"Do I? That is what I _think_ I feel…but how long would the-the _training_ have lasted? How long will I feel what I was coerced into feeling?"

"Coerced by yourself!"

"Does it matter? It was not willing—"

"Do you honestly think most _are_ willing? Going through life without a mate may seem lonely, but it is safe. There is no fear of abandonment, of feelings being unrequited or fading with time, no fear of what another day might discover to tear you apart. You can be happily self-sufficient, not really _needing_ anyone, even if you might _want_ someone. It is frightening to need someone, to truly _need_ them, and them alone. While many are willing and more than ready to have someone, few want to feel so deeply… and Legolas… few truly do."

Legolas snorted. "Pretty words, Kirilan, but—"

"Legolas, hear me out. It is the meeting of souls that determines the bond, is it not? Whether friends, family, or lovers, no? Your soul met hers, and declared her lover, mate. Many marry someone they love, that they care about, but when their soul meets it is as friends, companions. In time they may grow closer, they may not. They are happy to be together, because they love each other, but not so deeply and desperately as you and Anumi do."

"Do not speak of that you know nothing about, Kirilan."

"Why do you assume I know nothing? Long have you accepted me as an advisor—you, who will listen to no one. I've visited Nana on occasion ever since I left her care, though admittedly more often once I met Anumi. She speaks on a great many things, as you know. I've heard her tell stories about every elf in the halls, though I often forget the names or ranks. You've called me a helpless romantic—"

"Incurable."

Kirilan smiled faintly. "And I suppose I am. I always listened more when she spoke of couples, of their love… and I found it lacking. I wanted someone to be so close to me I could feel their heart. You had that—I know you did, even if you spared my feelings by never speaking."

A slow nod.

"Yours was a great love, Legolas, even if no romance at all. No matter how it happened, it should have been savored, nurtured, guarded. Not bashed and broken. I know how greatly it has hurt you… No, I don't. I know it has hurt you, terribly, but I cannot know how deeply. I… hope I never shall. I also hope, dear brother, that you will have listened to a quarter of what I've said and admit that you loved her, you love her, and you always _will_ love her—because this love comes from deeper down than your heart, and even if the heart may forget, the soul never shall. Know that she has been affected the same—"

"She hasn't."

Kirilan paused. There was no mistaking the bitterness, but he thought there might have been a touch of something beneath it—and pain or rage wasn't any better than bitterness alone would have been. "She has."

"She walks happily with Glorfindel."

"He is her friend. She walks with him, you walk with me."

"Pace."

"Have you ever seen her pace?"

A long silence, before Legolas turned, pressing his back to the stone. "Enough, Kirilan. You have given me much to think over, much to torture myself with. Please—enough."

For a moment, Kirilan was going to protest. Finally, though, he closed his mouth and nodded, knowing it didn't really matter that Legolas's eyes had been closed since he turned, and didn't see it. He stepped closer to place his hand on his brother's shoulder, offering silently some form of platitude like those that had been offered to him, and then left the garden, closing the door and lowering the latch behind him.


	31. Completely selfless and utterly selfish

**_Chapter 31: Completely selfless and utterly selfish _**

Anumi looked at Kirilan when Legolas left abruptly, and he looked back, seeming faintly… puzzled…

But not by Legolas's actions.

­_By her own._

She turned again to be sure Glorfindel was out of sight before moving to Kirilan's side. "I take it you know."

His lips tightened.

"Ah, confession in confidence," she surmised, smiling faintly.

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

With a shake of her head and a sigh, she shrugged. "Very well then." She tilted her head to the side and affected a look of innocence. "Kirilan, did you know I'm not your sister? Your brother insisted we break our soul-bond, no matter the pain involved."

"Flippancy does not suit you."

"Any more than silence suits you. You're the talkative brother."

"Interesting qualification."

"How could anyone call you a talker compared to Odrune? You're almost a mute, to her, so I can't image what Legolas would be, when left to himself."

"A mute beyond muteness?" He started to continue with the banter, but abruptly shook his head. "Anumi, how can you feel playful? I know you love him."

"Yes, I do, and he knows that as well as you and I."

"And yet… you seem happy."

"I'm not."

"But you smile, and your eyes shine—you are more as you should always be than you were before that day you collapsed in the halls."

"Hmm… Why should I not be happy, Kirilan? I am in love."

"Does he love you?"

"I believe so," she agreed.

With a snort, he pulled her into a room, closing the door firmly behind them. "How can you be so nonchalant? Don't you see how—" he cut off, and only then saw something in her eyes.

She smiled again, but it seemed slightly forced, and she quickly turned away.

"Anumi… Eru, Anumi!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

"What else was I to do? Wallow in my own despair and misery?"

"At least then he might realize that you miss him even a quarter as much as he misses you!"

"He should know that! I damned near died of a broken heart in the days and weeks and months that followed that stupid breaking which _I never wanted_. He saw my pain, my suffering, and he did nothing! What am I supposed to think, Kirilan, but that he doesn't love me?"

"But—"

Another torrent of words stopped his confused attempt to point out her inconsistency. "Or if he does love me, that he doesn't wish to, or wish to acknowledge it? I'm done, Kirilan. Finished. If he wishes to know how I feel, he can find his tongue in whatever box he's locked it in and talk to me. You and I have spoken more today, it seems, than he and I have in the last months!"

Kirilan grimaced. "Anumi, he…"

"What? Is hurting? Does love me? Not enough, on either count, obviously," she crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes low and dark. "If he loves me, if he wants me… he has a poor way of showing it."

"Why can't you show it, then? Why can't you speak to him?"

"He created the bond, and he ordered it broken. I am a mere lady, Kirilan, as long as he does not wish to be married to me. How am I to second-guess a Prince? _Who_ am I to demand anything?" She shook her head. "Nothing. No one. If anything is to change, he must change it. Meanwhile… I… well, I have stories to tell Herita, and time to spend with Matiar…"

"They can wait, Anumi."

"They can't. They're growing up so quickly, Kirilan… it is not as if I am growing old, waiting for him."

"Aren't you?" he asked, seeing the darkness behind the glow she wished him to see. "As surely as you were when we left, you are leaving us again."

"I… probably won't…"

He closed his eyes, his head falling. "I do not know what he will do, or when he will do it…"

"If he does anything. I do not have forever. I could wish that time, but it is something I simply do not have. He is my mate, Kirilan, and I am kept from him—not by chains, walls, nor even Mandos himself, but by his own wishes. It is a very bitter state."

"Then why not admit that? Why go about as if you are happy with what has happened?"

She smiled. "Kirilan, why did I almost fade before?"

"Because you were kept inside when you needed to be outside, as well."

"Look a little deeper."

He frowned. "If there is a deeper, then I do not know it."

"No… how could you?" she mused softly. "You do not know me, save what I allow you to know."

He started to protest, but she shook her head.

"You watch many, Kirilan, and you do see a lot. But you do not see everything. I stayed for my father."

"Well… naturally, he was the only family you had, and you loved him."

She shook her head. "I did not stay because I loved him."

He blinked.

Shook his head.

Finally gave in and frowned, asking, "Then why did you stay?"

"Because I felt guilty."

"Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?"

"Because I knew my mother was unhappy. Because I knew every time we ran through the lower halls that she was running away from him in the only way she could without leaving. I _knew_ she was going to leave, that she would never come back when she had… but I never said a word."

"You were still a child, Anumi, what were you to have done?"

"I could have told him she was unhappy. That she wanted something more than running through a dark hallway, telling endless stories about a place she would never see again."

"Anumi, you are too hard on yourself. Hindsight—"

"Is nothing more than that, and not what I am talking about. I _knew_ Kirilan, knew just as well as Legolas knew your mother would never wake."

His breath hissed in, and he took a step back.

"She's dead, Kirilan. Haven't you accepted that?"

"I know she's dead. Don't try to distract me."

She looked away, sighing. "I said nothing… because I wanted her to get away. I wanted her to be free…"

"You didn't want her to die."

"No, of course not. I loved her so much I was happy when she left, though I was also sad. She would be free… in the only way she saw possible. She only left at all to spare us seeing her die."

"So that is truly why you felt guilty—you were happy she was getting away from him."

"Yes."

"But… I don't understand," he sighed, sitting against the wall.

She smiled at him, a small, faint smile that felt utterly devoid of anything a smile is supposed to contain. "Don't you? She stayed until she had to leave. I did the same—I simply left in a different way."

"So… you almost faded, to give all you could to the ones you loved. You…" He closed his eyes, the realization as painful as when he'd understood their bond had been broken. "You ignored yourself, your own feelings, your own pain, to spare others. You hide your anguish now so that Herita and Matiar will have only a brighter, happier memory of you, so they are not caused pain by your unhappiness as you die. You would deceive Father, Odrune, me… and Legolas… leaving us all stunned when one morning you simply didn't wake." He snorted. "At once completely selfless, and utterly selfish. You would destroy him."

"As thoroughly as he has destroyed me?" she asked, sounding falsely chipper again. Only now, he heard the falsity, and wondered at having been taken in for so long.

"How can two who love each other as much as you do cause each other so much harm?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't know, Kirilan. I really don't."

He closed his eyes with a sigh, and scooted over to her, turning his back against the couch as she had when she joined him on the floor. When she turned her head to look at him, he lifted his arm.

She stared at him for a long moment, and then settled against him, slowly relaxing.

While she slept fitfully, Kirilan looked at the ceiling in troubled contemplation.


	32. Remember every jagged word

I'm sorry! I thought this was Monday, so _naturally_ I had updated yesterday... sorry!

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter 32: Remember every jagged word _**

He had been watching his family for some time, knowing there was something hidden from him… and knowing it was hurting them. But now, he saw a slight shift in his eldest son's eyes, and feared that he knew what it was.

"Legolas? What is wrong?"

Legolas turned to him with a slight frown. "What do you mean, Da? Nothing is wrong."

Kirilan tensed, sensing something of a scene coming on. He turned to Odrune and Toriad, looking pointedly from them to the main doors. Odrune immediately looked put-out and started to protest, but Toriad rested a hand on her shoulder and lifted Matiar from the floor, scooping up the toy his son had been playing with as well when the small face scrunched in tempestuous warning. He handed the toy over, and held out his hand for Herita, who was watching her Uncle in fascination.

"Herita."

She blinked and slowly turned, frowning when she saw the hand waiting for her. She looked between her Uncle and Grandfather, before getting up with a sigh. "I never get to hear the good stuff," she grumbled, but took her father's hand. "Coming, Mother?" she asked.

Kirilan snorted as Odrune rolled her eyes. "Yes, dear," she intoned dryly. She retrieved her son and settled him onto her shoulder, leaving Toriad free to pick Herita up. A small pleased glow lit in the girl's eyes—she was so rarely picked up anymore that such was to be savored.

When they were gone, Kirilan looked questioningly back at his father. He discretely pointed at his own room with a lifted brow.

Thranduil looked at his eldest for a long while, before minutely shaking his head.

Kirilan settled back into his side of the couch, feeling quite uncomfortable.

"Something is wrong, Legolas. It's been growing in your eyes, until I'd almost swear you are on the edge of fading."

Legolas snorted, and shook his head. "I can't fade, Ada. I've too much to do, too much to look out for."

"Too much a Crowned Prince to leave your kingdom?" Thranduil mused. He shook his head sadly. "You would tell Kirilan, yet lie to me?"

Legolas closed his eyes, turning his head slightly aside. "Sorry, Da… it's just easier to ignore than discuss," he admitted, pressing a hand to his chest.

"For you, perhaps. But what of us? You are not usually so affected by something that you forget all around you."

Anger flashed in dark eyes, and the hand over his heart clenched, bunching the material there into a fist. "I'm sorry, Father, that I failed to consider your feelings in the flood of my own grief," he snarled, shooting to his feet, moving for his door.

"Do not run."

Legolas made another three steps before the sheer command in Thranduil's voice brought his feet to a halt. His head dropped despondently. "Da…"

"Sit, boy. It seems we have much to talk about."

Legolas's laugh was low and cold. "Do we?" he mocked. "I cannot think of a thing."

"What has happened, Legolas? Why are you so gravely ill at heart?"

"But it's not my heart, Da, not if you talk to Kirilan," Legolas said insistently, his voice changing from dark to young. He sounded so earnest, so… innocent. Almost… lost.

Thranduil shook his head in worried confusion, and looked at Kirilan for... understanding? Compassion? Explanation? Equal confusion? He didn't know, but saw his child's eyes wide, his face pale. He was troubled, deeply troubled, his jaw setting as his lips compressed.

"So quiet now, dear brother? You had enough to say before."

"It's been several months since then. I'd assumed you hadn't been bothered to listen to me."

"Oh, how could I not? You knew I would."

Thranduil lifted a hand, not really surprised neither noticed it. "Enough!" he declared, and was pleased to see Kirilan turn to him… but felt rather shocked when Legolas didn't even twitch.

"You knew I would remember every jagged word—that they would fester and spread."

"I hoped they would heal you, Legolas, not drive you mad!"

Legolas laughed. "Am I mad, Kirilan?" His smile was… ­_off_. "Perhaps I am, at that."

Now the great and powerful Elven King… was starting to panic. "Would someone please tell me what is going on?!?"

When Legolas merely left darkly burning eyes on a discomforted Kirilan, Thranduil turned to the only son he was sure was still wholly sane. "Kirilan?" he asked sharply.

Kirilan slowly shook his head. "I can't, Father. It was told in the strictest of confidence, and I cannot break it. Not Legolas's…"

Thranduil bit his tongue, trying to calm down, understanding his son's position and yet feeling a desperate need to strangle him anyway. "Legolas is clearly not well, Kirilan, and if you know something that may help us help him, then you should tell me."

Kirilan bowed his head. "He is not fully gone, Father… he would not be here with _us_ if he was."

"I'm still here," Legolas chimed, his voice… rising and falling like a child calling to another in a game.

Both of his kin felt slightly ill at heart to hear him.

"Are you truly? Pull yourself together, Legolas!" Kirilan hissed, getting up to approach his brother. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you," he added quietly when Legolas backed up, rounding a table to keep him away. Kirilan shook his head. "Legolas… look at yourself in a mirror. You—"

"No!" Legolas exclaimed, horror in his voice, his head shaking wildly back and forth. "No. I won't look, I won't I won't I won't I won't."

Kirilan's head dropped. "Andun!" he called sharply. "Quiet, Legolas," he snapped forcefully, seeing his brother stop with his back to the wall, his eyes unnaturally wide. "Andun!"

"Yes… Prince Kirilan?"

Kirilan ignored the lad's surprise. "Find Anumi, bring her here—tell her it is urgent."

"Of course," Andun bowed quickly and raced for the doors.

"No, no no no no no," Legolas moaned, sliding slowly down the wall.

"Yes, Legolas. You need to admit it—all of it. You need to give in before you truly do drive yourself mad. You'll only kill her if you harm yourself."

Legolas looked up sharply, a manic glint in his eye. "My death would not harm her in the least," he hissed darkly.

"It would destroy her," Kirilan countered.

"She is fine."

"You are blind."

The door wrenched open, Andun in an obvious panic. "She-she's…" he gasped. "She's fainted!"

Kirilan blanched and raced for the door, nearly barring it and running into the elf holding Anumi. He hastily picked her up, moving quickly to the center of the room, laying her down on the floor, grabbing a pillow from the couch for her head. "Andun, fetch Pascail. You—" he glanced up at an elf he vaguely recalled seeing with Anumi from time to time "—what happened?" He checked her wrists and neck, passing his hand over her nose as he spoke, feeling her life with relief.

"We were talking… and she just… stopped. Mid-word she stopped and fell back. She didn't say anything about not feeling well before—"

"Thank you, you may go. Do not tell anyone what transpired—if anyone confronts you with having seen her, you will tell them she was feeling a little dizzy, and that's all."

"I would like—"

"Go!" he snarled, glaring at her in a fury.

She scampered off, shutting the door hastily.

Kirilan was about to get up for a blanket or something—anything to do _anything_ so he didn't feel so helpless and worthless—when he noticed his brother was standing shakily beside him. "Legolas?"

There was absolutely no sign he was heard.

"Legolas?" Kirilan sighed when he was again ignored—or simply not ­_heard­_—and pulled hard on Legolas's wrist, pulling him to the floor with alarming ease.

Legolas essentially collapsed beside Anumi, his eyes lightening frighteningly as he reached out, his hand ghosting over her features before fluttering lightly to her throat, feeling for a pulse.

As he touched her, the ragged edge to his features and eyes faded, leaving only a bleak sorrow in place. "Anumi," he whispered, leaning forward, his fingers stroking her hair. "Wake, Anumi—you cannot leave me. Not like this."

Kirilan's eyes widened when she actually _stirred_… he didn't care if she was responding to the gentle plea or not, as long as she lived.

Her head moved slightly, her eyes opening when her cheek came into contact with a palm. They widened when she realized who the palm was attached to. "Legolas."

His thumb brushed across her cheek, his eyes so sad Kirilan was forced to look away. "You… You've missed me?" he asked hesitantly, his other hand reaching with trembling uncertainty to her hair.

"Of course I have, you idiot prince!" she chided, but there was too much sorrow in her voice to give it any power. "I…" She looked away.

Legolas moved, gathering her slowly into his arms, keeping her positioned so he could study her face. "I love you," he whispered. "Can you ever forgive me everything I've done to you?"

A slow, warm smile turned her lips and lit her eyes. "You'll never know—unless you kiss me."

Legolas's head bowed slightly, a faint, troubled smile trembling on his lips. "You would give me that? You offer me hope, Anumi. Do not be cruel if you do not mean it."

"If cruel or kind, hopeless or hopeful, you will only know… if you kiss me. Kiss me, Legolas, and know—or don't, and watch me die."

His head lifted, a sort of desperate horror on his face before he shook, his whole body shuddering once. "You hide far too well," he whispered. "It was killing me."

"Pot, this is kettle," she quipped, throwing his words from long ago back at him.

He smiled faintly, and gently stroked her cheek. Then, as if sure the offer would vanish if he gave any warning, he swooped down and kissed her.

Legolas felt the greatest relief he'd ever known fill him, before he felt like he was being pulled from his body—everything went black.

A shocked noise left Kirilan's throat when Legolas and Anumi went painfully still, slumping together onto the floor, their angles so awkward there was no chance they were conscious. He was reaching out to shift them, trying to keep his mind blank, when Pascail threw open the doors and strode in, his eyes wide.

He looked down at the pair. "What did they do?"

"Kissed," Kirilan responded blankly.

Pascail laughed, a low, almost mournful sound and sank, boneless, onto the couch.


	33. A single drop of water joining an ocean

**_Chapter 33: A single drop of water joining an ocean _**

When Anumi woke, she felt peace. Utter, and overwhelming peace.

It was so unusual a circumstance that she didn't dare blink to wash it away.

Lately had been so…

Her thoughts screeched to a halt.

A scent had caught her attention, a scent she couldn't name but could certainly recognize. Legolas.

Then she realized that while she was comfortably warm, covered with the thick blanket, her back was more than comfortably warm—almost, in fact, hot. This astonishingly numbing realization was followed by another. The band of weighty warmth over her waist had to be his arm.

A burst of emotion flooded through her, before a slight confusion, then annoyance, both of which were paired by the arm tightening around her waist.

She froze.

He curled around her, and she _felt_ sleepy possessiveness, along with a long-held ache that was only just beginning to wane.

"Legolas."

The only response was a nose burrowing into the hair at her nape.

"Legolas!" she insisted, before elbowing him—without moving a muscle.

He jolted, shook his head, his fingers flexing against her abdomen before realizing where they were—he scrambled back almost a foot before…

Her eyes filled.

Before recognizing her. Before _feeling_ her.

"Eru," he breathed, such a rush of emotions that she was laughing through her tears as he curled around her again, his lips pressing soft kisses into her nape, along her cheek, until he turned her and finally kissed her again, the emotions tearing through them such that neither really felt the bodily contact. It was wonderful, yes, but the wondrous relief and joy they both felt by far consumed it, overwhelmed it, hid it away as insignificant. A single drop of water joining an ocean.

She welcomed the bond, holding him tightly with arms and soul until the sharpest edges of their separation had eased, softened by the warmth and peace that embraced them.

He'd laughed happily—he'd even shed tears. Now, though, he sat up sharply with a thought, his mouth open to speak…

But he looked at her, and his expression softened, his mouth closing as he gently dried her tears. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and laid beside her once more, holding her tightly.

Hours or days may have passed like that—they neither knew nor cared. They needed this time alone, together, and had anyone intruded they would have known quickly it was not a welcome disturbance.

Eventually, though, Legolas stirred slightly, propping his head upon his hand, his elbow above her head. He nudged her gently through the bond, coiling a lock of her hair around his fingers.

Slowly she allowed him to bring her to total awareness, opening her eyes. She couldn't help the smile that turned her lips, and had no thought to try.

He echoed it, the contentment that had flowed between them rising to a gentle happiness. He studied her for a long moment, her hair still caught in his fingers as he traced her features, as he chuckled at her shivers when tickled by her own hair.

"What is it?" she asked quietly.

He blinked blankly, making her smile, the move upon his lips a moment later. He kissed her quickly but soundly, then drew back far enough to watch her lazily open her eyes once more. When she had, he turned his eyes aside, ignoring her snort of laughter as he tried to remember what had been so important.

When he remembered, they both fell solemn. "What happened?"

She sighed, and tucked that stray bit of hair behind his ear, blowing at it absently when it promptly escaped.

He tugged her hair lightly.

She looked at him briefly, then rolled onto her side, her back to him. She felt his confused pain give over to relief when he realized she wasn't in any way rejecting him, and waited until he had shifted closer, his arm firmly around her waist, curling up to twine their fingers together.

"Anumi?" he asked.

She gave him a nudge, and he waited silently. When she felt their emotions begin to settle, she drew breath to speak, and felt him tense. "I love you," she said softly.

He paused, then kissed her behind her ear. "And I you," he agreed, though his emotions nudged at her.

"You've realized, by now, that the soul chooses the bond?"

"No… not exactly. Kirilan said—"

She shook her head. "Whatever he said doesn't matter. The souls choose the bond. Whether as siblings, friends, or mates and lovers, the soul knows which is right and creates the bond accordingly. Most of the time the elves involved know—though sometimes they expect a deeper bond than they are given, and have to work for a stronger one."

"But…"

"Hmm?"

He shook his head. "Just remembering what you told me about bonds. That they sometimes deepen after children."

"Children require a good bond to grow healthily," she reminded him softly. "That is why those elves who lose their mates while with child are so weakened at birth, unless another comes forward to assist. A child needs strength from two elves to be strong and healthy—naturally, it is usually taken from the parents. If one is lost, the mother can compensate… to her detriment. Sometimes she is lost."

"So… the sharing of strength can sometimes strengthen the bond?" he asked dubiously.

She smiled, and shook her head. "No. But the closeness required to share the strength can. The child is within its mother, after all, and there must be trust there to allow the sharing to occur at all."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I suppose I'll understand the soul and its facets some day, but for right now, and not that I'm complaining… What happened?"

She chuckled. "I was getting to that."

"Were you? Like Mithrandir gets right to the point?"

"Oh, like you always get right to the point? You, mate, are a master of—" she trailed off, and tightened her fingers around his at a sudden surge of emotions from him.

He shuddered, burying his face in her hair. "Say it again, love."

"Mate," she whispered, shivering as kisses were pressed to her shoulder. "Legolas…"

"Right, right, continue." He dropped another kiss behind her ear, and she felt his longing stare before he mentally shook himself and settled back down behind her.

"Anyway… The soul chooses the bond. Ours chose to be bonded fully and deeply—entwined so deeply it was painful to be apart. I thought… I thought that it was normal—something that occurs with all bindings, but that wouldn't really be noticed because such feelings were already there."

"Mm-hmm."

She smiled crookedly. "I've learned since that it's not so. It's rare—as we knew—for the bond to be as deep as ours is until a couple has spent centuries together. They become more suited to each other every time their souls meet, unless they are growing apart. So, some end up as friends, while some are truly soul-bound. We… started out with an oddly deep bond…"

"Soul-mates?" he summed skeptically.

"If such exist," she agreed hesitantly. It was hard to swallow. "Highly compatible?" she offered. "Extremely stubborn?"

He hmmed lightly before agreeing, closing his eyes as he tucked his face into her hair.

"So… whatever you wish to call it, our bond was deep—far too deep for Pascail to have sundered. A shallow bond he could have broken, and, naturally, those are the only kind generally ever _truly_ wished broken. A bond that is deeper, though… not only would he not have had the strength, but if he'd been able to do it, we both would have been killed—beyond the reach of Mandos, as a splintered soul will find no peace."

"Yet… he agreed…"

"He wasn't aware, truly aware, until we were drawn out so he could see us. He'd had his suspicions before, though, and prepared."

"Prepared."

"First promise you won't do anything to him."

At her nervous request he felt something dark move within him.

"No, don't," she pleaded. "He did what he felt he had to do, to really serve us as he swore he would—as our healer."

"I won't promise I will do nothing," he finally forced out.

"But?" she insisted.

"But I will try to stay my hand from violence or unpleasantness," he conceded through clenched teeth a little while later.

She nodded, accepting that as the best she would be offered. "He knew something not known, any longer, in any of the books. Lord Sorial had told him—and he memorized it, never wrote it down. Because it is… rather between what is good, and what is right. Grey area between the two, while most healers would never wish to wander out of the known."

"Save Dalidan… and apparently our dear Pascail."

"Pascail wanders for the good of others—Dalidan explores for the power of it."

He squeezed her fingers.

She took a deep breath, and did her best to release her affronted anger. "He deceived us both. He hid the bond from our hearts, and bound our souls to a simple release—until that was done, we would feel as if our souls had been ripped apart as we'd requested. His deception was to save three lives, Legolas… even if it ended up being at the cost of his own."

The slow, growing anger Legolas had felt from the moment of her request died. He snorted and lifted himself so he could see her. "How could I be angry?"

"Well, you do have that whole 'princely' arrogance part of your personality… a rather dominant part, too… arrogance, pride, con—"

He cut her off soundly, and she didn't protest even when given a chance in which to do so.


	34. You come by your deviousness honestly

_A friend (Peppy) is back in the hospital and facing another surgery soon. She's had a really (really) rough year this year. As you can imagine, she is very down at the moment. To help cheer her up, Fiondil and NiRi have come up with a Yule challenge._

_- - - - - Naked Yule Fic Challenge - - - - - _

_Write a Yule story featuring Legolas, Aragorn and Glorfindel. You may include other characters, but those three MUST be included. You MUST include a naked elf, a horse, snow, and someone's confession. You must also incorporate a real world Christmas image that can be adapted into a Middle-earth culture. For example: mistletoe, holly, Star, lighted tree, shepherds, wisemen, mangers, little drummerboys, yule songs, yule logs, angels, etc. The rest is up to you!_

_Deadline is December 15th. All fics can be emailed to NiRi. The fics will be posted at under the challenge: Naked Yule. She will need your permission to post the fics if you do not have a penname at lotrfanfiction (unless you just want it sent to Peppy). All fics will also be compiled and sent to Peppy in time for Christmas._

_We are hoping for a lot of participation in this, as it will help Peppy though her trials and tribulations._

_Thanks!!!_

The above message copied/pasted/edited from NiRi with permission. She'll be posting my own entries, and I'll post them here once they've been sent to Peppy. The e-mail and site address won't display here, so the message will be copy/pasted into my profile as well. We'd love to get more cheer and good wishes sent her way!

That said, onto the _last_ (sigh) chapter of Poison Arrow. ;)

**_

* * *

_****_Chapter 34: You come by your deviousness honestly _**

Herita threw herself against their legs the moment they left their rooms. She wrapped her arms tightly around their knees, her head pressed down between them.

A bit amused, Legolas rested his hand lightly upon her crown.

Anumi, though, slowly crouched, brushing the little girl's hair back to see her large, worried eyes. "We didn't mean to frighten you," she whispered.

"I wasn't scared," Herita pouted.

"But you were worried—and we didn't mean for you to be."

Herita sniffled a bit, rubbed at her eyes, and pressed forward, wrapping her arms around Anumi's neck.

Legolas's amusement had died with the first twinge from his mate, so he sheepishly lifted their niece up, carrying her to the couch, letting her lie on their laps. She pulled his arm up for a pillow, playing with his fingers, learning the contours and ridges as she ignored the boring adult conversation around her.

"I trust that you're well now, Legolas," Kirilan asked quietly.

Legolas grimaced slightly upon seeing his brother's weary face. That Kirilan had been thinking too hard for far too long was very apparent. "I'm sorry, Kirilan. It was not your doing, I knew you wished merely to help…"

"But having your soul ravaging itself didn't help you think clearly. I know why you did what you did, why you seemed to be losing your mind—"

"Because I was?" he asked dryly.

"Well, yes, there is that… but you haven't answered. You… _are_ well now, aren't you?"

"No. But I will be, with time. We've been apart far too long, and not eating properly. It may take weeks, months…"

"Even years?" Anumi asked, looking up at him with teasing eyes.

He snorted, kissed her swiftly, and shook his head. "Not at the rate we're recovering," he countered, leaning his forehead against hers.

She sighed and curled a bit, making Herita shift so they could both use him as their mattress.

He saw himself in the one mirror the main room boasted, and shook his head.

"Hmm?" Anumi asked, not stirring.

"Just wondering what happened to my tough, princely outside."

"Guess you decided to leave it outside those doors," she said lazily, tipping her head slightly at the main doors of the Royal wing.

He snorted.

"May I ask… what exactly happened? Well, maybe not _exactly_," Kirilan rescinded, especially as he took in Herita's place in the room.

Legolas looked from Kirilan to his father, then his sister and brother-in-law. Kirilan shook his head. "That makes explanation rather difficult, doesn't it?" he asked dryly.

"I couldn't tell them. You know I couldn't."

He smiled slightly. "Hmm." He rested his cheek against Anumi's crown, realizing how utterly sappy the sight must have been by seeing Odrune's dreamy gaze. He shook himself slightly. "Pascail didn't do as he said he had—the kiss broke the illusion."

Kirilan cocked his head slightly to the side, and then nodded. "And that made you both faint?"

"We were drained beyond exhaustion, Kirilan, then more or less ripped from our own bodies. I think we were entitled to passing out."

Kirilan grinned at the rewording, but at a thought, frowned. "And Pascail?"

Legolas's smile was wicked.

"Legolas, he only—" Kirilan stopped protesting when he noticed how still Anumi was. She had her cruel streak like all elves with some wood-elf blood when they or someone they loved had been wronged, but she would have stirred… "What are you planning?" he asked curiously, sure after his observation of his again-sister that the healer would be fine.

"Come down to dinner, and find out," Legolas mused, before a soft knock announced that the meal was about to be served.

"Are you sure you're well enough to be out and about? I mean, you look loads better, but still—"

"We're fine," Legolas said firmly, patting Herita's side.

She got up with a sigh and a small yawn.

"I think we're going to miss dinner and all the ensuing boredom and drivel, Elder Brother, unless you think we should be there," Odrune declared, stretching with a small yawn of her own. Hers, at least, was lightly covered.

"You at least," he admitted after a moment. "Toriad may stay with Herita and Matiar, though."

"Ah. First generation blood only, hmm? Some Royal Proclamation to go with the normal?"

"Something along those lines, yes."

She kissed Matiar's forehead, and Toriad's cheek, before tweaking Herita's nose. "I'll have Walira come up with your meal, and I'll sneak you some of that berry pie that you so love from the head table."

Herita tried to pout a while longer, but a wide yawn broke into it, and she toddled off contentedly enough.

Odrune looked down at herself, then lifted a brow. "Since I'm not really the 'Princess' any longer, am I fit?"

"You are," Legolas agreed with a smile.

"You're always a princess," Kirilan countered, wrapping an arm around her shoulder before offering his arm.

She shook her head as she hooked her arm through his, smiling at him in remembrance.

"It's been a long time since I escorted you, hasn't it?" he asked.

"Yes…"

Legolas slowly rose, covering a yawn.

Anumi smiled sheepishly when he lifted a brow at her. "Sorry. I'm just…"

"I noticed. Sorry to force you to stay awake, but I rather think Pascail would prefer to know his fate, whatever it is to be, rather than wait any longer than he already has."

"Yes," she agreed.

"Odrune was fit for dinner," Legolas mused, looking over his wife critically. "You, however… Andun!" he called sharply.

The youth soon popped out of his room. At Legolas's nod, he grinned and scampered back into his small room, emerging soon after with a cloth bundle, which he handed to Legolas before dashing into their quarters. Legolas unwrapped the bundle, letting the thin crown rest lightly upon his palm.

She understood… and yet, didn't, at the same time. "But I have a circlet."

"For semi-formal occasions. For a Princess who could never be Queen. For a Princess traveling out of her realm. This is your realm, your kingdom. And, you are the wife of a Crowned Prince." He ruined the solemn moment with a small grin. "Crowned, not 'circletted'," he teased.

"I really don't think that's a word."

"Nana would agree with me."

"Nana might agree verbally, but she would be rolling her eyes in her head."

"How would you ever know?"

"How would you?" she countered cheekily.

He chuckled and kissed her swiftly. Then he retrieved the crown from where it had dangled precariously from otherwise occupied fingers, and settled it upon her brow. His own crown was offered by Andun.

Anumi shook her head slightly, realizing he'd planned this for some time. The crown alone would have taken most of the time since they'd first wandered from their bedroom to their sitting room to send Andun for food.

He merely smiled, and kissed her brow, just below the crown and above the bridge of her nose.

She crinkled her nose at him, then glanced at Thranduil, lifting a brow at the ornate crown and robes he was wearing. "Isn't this all a bit much? It's only a feast."

"A Centennial Feast," Legolas reminded her, twisting a stray strand of her hair around a finger before looping it out of the way.

She frowned. "Is it really? Time certainly has passed oddly, these last few years."

"So it has, mate," he agreed quietly.

"What of Kirilan?" she looked between them.

"He has his circlet—he just hates to wear it before he must."

"Hmm… let's see… last Centennial Feast I was… sitting with Ninith and Cirida. We were…" She broke off and flushed, looking up at him sheepishly.

Her embarrassment had colored his ears, as well, amusing Thranduil greatly. "Dare I ask?" Legolas drawled, ignoring his father.

"Umm…" She bit her lip. "We were…"

He stopped her, lifting his hand. "Doing something girly that will embarrass me as well if you explain?"

She nodded quickly.

He shook his head with a chuckle. "Then perhaps another time… Unless I should be prepared?"

"I doubt it… well, actually… no." She shook her head decisively. "I'll try to keep from making you blush," she promised, the glints in her eyes giving her away.

"Good," he declared, before turning to the door. "Now, we're late."

"Royal Prerogative," she declared.

Thranduil chuckled. "Just walk quickly and no one will make your lives miserable by talking."

She grimaced, then stuck her tongue out at him before heading swiftly for the door.

After they were announced, she saw Ninith and Cirida against a wall, watching her, waiting with wicked grins for her to notice them. She hesitated a moment, and glanced swiftly at Legolas, tilting her head up so her words would reach him alone.

He stooped slightly, turning his head towards her so any able to read lips would be unable to tell what she wanted to ask.

"I think I should go talk to Ninith and Cirida briefly, Legolas."

"We're going to start in very little time," he warned, making her glance at the servers just awaiting the nod from the King.

"I know—just a minute or two. I'll run back if I have to."

"You'll do no such thing. You _will_ beat my father to my side."

"Agreed," she smiled, squeezing his hand when she realized almost too late that kissing him would draw a lot of attention.

She made her way to her friends as quickly as she could. "Don't _do_ that!" she hissed, offering an arched brow to an elf who was watching them unabashedly. He quickly moved off. "Yes, yes, I remember," she moaned, turning away from the crowds.

"Yes…" Ninith drawled. "Who would _ever_ be foolish enough to become the Princess?"

"Even if the title comes with a gorgeous Prince?" Cirida continued.

"And the royal succession—why would anyone—"

"Enough! I remember, I remember. Just… don't tell Legolas!"

They laughed at her. "As if we always just plop down next to the Crowned Prince. 'Oh, your highness, did I tell you what your wife was thinking about you a century ago? She'd have preferred giving the time of day to an orc, you know. Never would have wanted—'"

"Ninith!" Anumi hissed. "Please, I can't make him blush."

They blinked at her, smirks fading to puzzlement.

"He feels my emotions," she mumbled. "You know that."

"He _can_ blush?" Ninith finally asked. Then her grin reappeared.

Anumi hung her head. "Please, Ninith, not now! Visit later and embarrass us all you want, but _not here_." She snapped her head high, her eyes flashing. Then she smiled faintly. "I think that's his way of telling me to hurry up."

"Yes… go before you start acting like him," Ninith agreed, lifting a curious brow.

"You'd best be off," Cirida agreed, "the little look-out for Jerinul is racing back."

Anumi turned without a goodbye and made her way back to Legolas, sitting demurely just as Thranduil walked in.

"Amazing timing."

"Oh," she mused, "didn't you know that the hall's foremost musician and composer always posts a sentry in the hall to warn him of the King's approach? How else would everyone be ready the instant he arrived?"

Legolas smiled faintly, shaking his head internally. "Settling down now?" he asked softly.

"I think so…"

"This is something I'm never going to want to know, isn't it?"

"Well… maybe… though I daresay it wouldn't surprise you."

He turned to her, quirking a brow.

"We weren't exactly friends a century past."

"We weren't anything, a century past. I didn't know you to pass you."

"And I only knew what everyone else saw."

He inclined his head slightly. "So this big embarrassing secret does have to do with me."

"And… how much I would have pitied anyone forced to marry you," she admitted, the last coming as a bare whisper.

She feared anger, but would have expected it. Annoyance, irritation.

But not laughter.

He threw his head back and laughed richly, the surprising merriment stunning most of the room. He lifted her hand, twining their fingers before kissing her wrist. He shook his head, his amusement still prevalent enough to bubble through her.

"You're going to have the females fainting if you laugh again," she warned, finding it hard not to laugh herself at the many dropped jaws surrounding them. His laugh, like his voice, was of one of those few pitches that just could not be ignored. It always found the ear, and his laugh had shivered up along hers.

He chuckled softly, and leaned over.

She tilted her head, expecting a soft whisper.

He wasn't doing what she expected, today.

He bit the tip of her ear, and pulled back, his eyes dark. He kissed her fingers and resolutely looked back out among the crowds, lifting a brow at those he caught staring.

For the most part, they quickly went along their way.

Those that didn't were ignored.

Including Dalidan.

When the courses of the feast had been served, and the dancing began to thin, Thranduil signaled for the musicians to play that music reserved to turn attention to the King.

"Can I sleep, now?"

Legolas smiled faintly at her, lacing their fingers once more. "No, you may not."

"But this always takes so long, and I really am tired."

"I know. But you wish to be here for Pascail's judgment, do you not?"

She sighed. "I _wish_ you'd told me what you had decided when you'd decided it."

"You can almost hear what I think—a few things I'm going to keep quiet." His eyes drifted to her crown. "There would be no surprise, no mystery, if I didn't."

She sighed, but ceded him the point, and settled back for the droning monotony of a century's worth of deeds to be praised… or rarely, rebuked. Rarely, because such were taken care of more swiftly, save in those cases where only a public denouncement was deemed sufficient for the crime. Praise, though—offered initially, and again at several feasts, leading up to this one.

This was the most boring part of any feast held—because with few exceptions, everyone knew what was coming. Sometimes something would have been all but forgotten, and a moment to remember would have to be taken, but there was little new information given.

It was incredibly tedious.

"Now," Thranduil said, holding up a hand with a smile. Elves began to stir from their stupor. "There is but one final matter to attend to, and as it has most concerned my son, he shall announce our decision."

Anumi nearly snorted. 'Our decision'. More like Legolas's decision, with Thranduil's approval… whatever the decision was.

Legolas stood, causing many murmurs when it was noticed that he didn't release Anumi's hand. "Pascail."

The room buzzed—something ­_new_! Not only was it the Crowned Prince to hand down the decision, but it was something no one knew was ever considered! Any dozing elves were roused, often with hands firmly yet on shoulders so they wouldn't immediately rise to dance, as was tradition.

Pascail moved slowly forward, the elves parting around him to make it easier for him to pass. His head was bowed slightly, but that was not unusual. Most came before the throne in such a manner.

"You know the reason you are before me," Legolas stated, his voice carrying around the hushed room.

"Yes, your highness."

"I have determined what is to be done with you, for what you have done."

Another buzz rose up around the room as elves began to realize that they were not to be told what had happened to bring Pascail forward.

"I am ready for your judgment, your highness," Pascail said wearily.

"You will name seven healers that have trained under your tutelage, that still have much to learn."

Pascail looked up briefly, before looking down again, mumbling names slowly, regretfully.

Legolas looked out over the crowd, and the seven healers slowly came forward, their faces a mixture of fear, excitement and trepidation. When all were before him, Legolas inclined his head slightly. "Iridel."

A soft, confused murmur arose, even as the young scribe moved forward, to join the other eight elves who formed a semicircle around Pascail.

"Pascail, you are no longer a Master Healer of Mirkwood."

There was a collective pause, followed by a gasp and a sob from Pascail's wife.

Legolas continued, ignoring her. "You are the Royal Healer of Mirkwood."

The sob stopped so abruptly that she hiccupped.

"The rooms have been reopened, and servants assigned. These healers shall be under your guidance, training to become Master Healers under your wisdom and will. Iridel shall translate and copy any books not available in that library, and shall also turn any notes you have into books for future healers, when you have traveled west to be with your family."

Pascail was obviously overcome, but remained on his feet, though some of his apprentices had forgotten themselves, spinning together in tight, happy little circles. He looked up, and offered as solemn a bow as he could, but it was clear he could not speak.

Legolas left the dais, moving down the stairs to stand directly before Pascail, again breaking with tradition. He placed his hand upon the shaken healer's shoulder. "I only hope it can, in some small way, repay you for all you have done, my friend."

Legolas had retaken his seat before Pascail found his voice. "Thank you, Prince Legolas." He was wise enough to say no more, and to move quickly to a chair.

Anumi's fingers were quickly recaptured, and she turned to him, smiling brightly. "That was wonderful."

"Only fitting," he countered mildly. "A healer who would risk his life to save another's should be the Royal Healer."

"And here I thought there would never be another," she teased.

He looked at her, letting her read a smile in his eyes before returning to studying the festivities.

"Legolas?"

"Hmm?"

"What about Dalidan?"

He turned, quirking a brow. "What about him?"

"You know what he did."

"Yes. Forced us to realize we truly do love each other."

She glared at him from the corner of her eyes.

He squeezed her fingers, amusement drifting to her. "There is little I can do, love. He did nothing wrong. He merely… shared information."

"Knowing it would be used."

"_Hoping_ it would be used," he countered.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes… and no. There is nothing I can do… that I didn't already do," he added, turning to her so his wicked smirk was seen only by her and a servant behind her, who flushed and quickly left the room.

Anumi narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

"Well, airing out the rooms formerly occupied by the Royal Healer isn't a small task, nor is making them ready for a new batch of students. A lot of work must be done—work for laundresses, carpenters, smiths…"

"And herbalists," she finished. "You had him procure the stores."

"He is the 'keeper of the stores'," he mocked lightly.

"You not only let him know that the rooms were being reopened, but let him believe he would be set in place."

"I? _I_ did nothing of the sort."

"Oh. Kirilan, then."

"Ah, afraid you're wrong again, love."

She blinked. "_Thranduil_?"

He chuckled at her shock. "Of course. A threat was made to his family, one he could officially do nothing about. Unofficially though…"

"So you come by your deviousness honestly."

"Only way _to_ come by deviousness, I suppose."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"What worries you?" he asked when she sobered.

"I only hope he won't…"

"He wouldn't dare," he declared flatly.

"He dares much, my prince," she whispered.

"I know you dislike him. You are not alone in that. But he is canny. He decided there was no chance you and I simply fell in love. Or perhaps he knew that even if we did, I would have wanted to return here for the ceremony."

"Which we never had."

"Irrelevant."

She smiled, biting her cheek.

"Stop that," he frowned.

"Anyway?" she asked.

"Hmm…" he waited until she was in control of her amusement. "Now, he has seen us happy—we were content before, but it was always tainted with the question of origin. We know now, and so, we allow ourselves our happiness… He is not blind to it. He should see you are lost to him."

"And if he doesn't, or if he ignores it?"

He looked at her, and she understood then how someone could have imagined him worthy of the only title he bore that was unknown to more than half a dozen people. He said nothing.

But she understood.

Any further attempts to take her from him would be met with savage and bloody efficiency…

And somehow, she couldn't find it in herself to mind.


End file.
